The Original Golyadkin, Our Hero
by Enthusiastic Fish
Summary: My entry for the NFA Crime Challenge. A new case is not what it seems, and the roots of it go back much farther than the team thinks at first. Mildy Tim centered, but not completely. 12 chapters. Now complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** This was written for the NFA Crime Challenge. It's more or less a team fic, but it does tend to focus on Tim, especially towards the end. I can't help it. I love Tim. :) The title comes from a work by Dostoyevsky entitled _The Double: A Petersburg Poem_. **Warning:** This is set in season 6. The spoilers aren't huge, but they're present.

**Disclaimer:** I own nothing of NCIS, nor do I own any of the characters, nor am I making any money off it. ...and it sure is unfortunate.

* * *

**The Original Golyadkin, Our Hero  
**by Enthusiastic Fish

**Chapter 1**

"We're putting in tomorrow morning."

"I know." The man was not happy with the information.

"I need to know what you're going to say."

"You've already..."

The voice was cruel as it cut him off. "I'm perfectly aware of what I've already done. ...but so are you, and that's the problem."

"Who's going to believe me? You've already made that impossible."

Lips curled in a sadistic smile. "Not quite."

"So...what? What are you going to do? I already know what you're capable of."

"Is your wife aware of that?"

The man's eyes widened. "You wouldn't...not even _you_..."

Silence...but a silence so definitive that he couldn't go on.

"I won't let you. I've let you...go after your...disgusting agenda. I'm not going to let you go any farther."

"You're not? And how will you stop me? I'm armed, remember?"

"Yes, I remember that, _Special Agent–_"

The laughter was almost as cruel as the smile, as the voice. "Remembered that, did you? Who's going to believe _you_? You're known to resent me and my authority. An unfortunate altercation, just hours before we dock. A tragedy."

"It's not going down that way."

"Really?"

Steeling himself, the man pulled out a gun. "You're not the only one who's armed. I work in the armory, _remember_?" he asked sarcastically. "I've bent...but I can't bend anymore. I'll break."

"Break away," the man said. "You don't have the guts. You never did. Go on. Shoot me. Save the world. Save your pretty little wife."

The gun wavered, shook in the hand of the man holding it.

"The Navy must be letting _anyone_ in if this is the best we can expect from those serving. Good thing I'm here to clean things up."

Then, he launched himself at the man. The two began grappling for the gun. It went off once. Twice. Then...after a third shot...one of them fell to the decking.

Dead.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Agent Gibbs, could you join me in my office, please?" Vance asked.

Tony, Ziva and Tim shared glances with each other. Vance was generally extremely offical in public, but this was different. He was being almost conciliatory...and so far as they knew, Gibbs hadn't done anything...not yet...not _recently_.

"Of course, Director Vance," Gibbs replied, standing up without hesitation.

The two of them walked up the stairs, neither speaking, willing to wait. They walked past the desk in the outer office. A rather tense young man sat staring at the computer as if it was going to attack him.

"New assistant already?" Gibbs asked as he closed the door behind him.

"Have a seat, Agent Gibbs."

Gibbs didn't show it, but he was slightly worried. "Are you firing me, Leon?"

"_Should_ I be firing you, Jethro?"

"I don't think so, but you and I often have different views on that particular issue."

"This has nothing to do with your continued employment at NCIS."

"Then, what is it?"

Vance sat down at his desk. "Please, have a seat."

Gibbs sat down.

"I have a case, if you're interested in taking it."

"If I'm interested? Since when does interest have anything to do with what I investigate?"

Vance raised an eyebrow at that, but the fact that he didn't pursue what was a wide open opportunity to bring up some of their past professional tussles told Gibbs that this was pretty serious.

"The USS Theodore Roosevelt docked yesterday morning at 0600. They found a body on the flight deck. It's the assigned Agent Afloat."

"Someone killed the special agent assigned there?"

"Not someone. Layne Wright, Jr., the petty officer assigned to the armory. He turned himself in almost immediately."

"Then, why do you need us? The Norfolk team could take care of it."

"Because he claims it was in self-defense. Wright says that the agent was using him and a few other sailors to run some sort of black market on the carrier and that he had threatened his wife. This is not the kind of thing I want becoming associated with NCIS. I want my MCRT to take care of it...but I think it should be an option for you."

"Why?"

"Because of the agent who was killed."

"Who is it?"

"I believe you worked with Stan Burley?"

Gibbs suddenly realized that he was standing. "You're trying to tell me that _Stan Burley_ threatened a man's wife, was involved in illegal activities? You've got to be kidding."

"I'm not," Vance said, his face deadly serious. "He was the agent assigned. He has been serving on The Big Stick for the last six months. The captain verified it and was actually rather aggrieved to find out the sorts of things Burley has been accused of."

"Like what?"

"Stealing information. Threatening people with being brought up on charges, charges he could make stick, if they crossed him. Things of that nature. Agent Burley was _the_ best Agent Afloat in the years that he's been part of the program. He had the best record and the best recommendations."

"That's because he _is_ the best."

"How long has it been since you talked to him?"

"A year or so. We lost touch."

"People can change a lot in a year, Agent Gibbs. You should know that."

"There's been a mistake somewhere, Leon," Gibbs said, firmly. "He's no more guilty than Langer was."

"Well, both of them are dead now," Vance said, standing as well. "You want the case?"

"Darn right, I do."

"Good. You've got it."

"We'll head out to–"

"No. The Norfolk team has already done the preliminaries. They processed the scene, did the initial interviews and their ME cleared the body for transport. _I_ am the one who insisted that it be handled by Headquarters. Ducky should be receiving the body in the next hour. I already informed him of whom he should be expecting. He said he was up to the challenge. Petty Officer Wright, along with all evidence collected thus far, is also in transit and should be arriving any moment now. Start with what you already have. _Then,_ you can go to Norfolk. There's no point in retracing steps...not yet."

"What's worrying you more, Leon?" Gibbs asked. "That a man was killed or that he might affect the reputation of NCIS?"

Vance's expression was stony. "What worries me is the possibility that a man who was trusted by the agent best known for the accuracy of his gut instincts turned out to be someone else. What worries me is that a crime was most definitely committed, but I don't know which crime is the more nefarious. What worries _me_ is that _you_ are so certain it's a mistake when a carrier full of good men and women say otherwise. Yes, the reputation of NCIS is something I have to worry about. It's part of my job. No, I don't like that I have lost one of my agents, but we've just gotten through having a corrupt agent die. I'd rather not be blindsided with another one."

"Is that all, Director?"

"Keep me informed, Agent Gibbs. You can't go off on your own this time around. Got it?"

"Yes, sir," Gibbs retorted, spun on his heel and stalked from the office. He paid no attention to the man at the desk but focused his attention on getting down to the bullpen.

"McGee!" he barked.

"Yeah, Boss?"

"Pull up everything we have on Special Agent Stan Burley. I want to know _everything_ by the time I get back up here."

"Burley?" Tony asked. "What's up, Boss?"

"You and Ziva be ready to receive a case file and a prisoner within the next ten minutes."

He walked to the elevator got on and went down to Autopsy.

The three of them stared in silence for a couple of seconds.

"Who's Stan Burley?" Tim asked.

"Worked with Gibbs before me," Tony said. "We helped him out with a case on the Enterprise a few years ago."

"Weird."

"Yes," Ziva agreed. "Why would he not simply _ask_ Agent Burley himself?"

"Maybe he's dead. That would explain the bad mood," Tony offered.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Yes, Jethro, I was just about to get started," Ducky said heavily. "Mr. Palmer, could you assist me?"

"Yes, Doctor."

"It's always hard to see someone you have known pass away, but it's infinitely worse to have that person be someone you only _thought_ you knew."

"Innocent until proven guilty, Ducky," Gibbs said shortly, staring at the black body bag.

"I hope you are correct, Jethro." He sighed. "Well, there's no sense in putting it off. Let us begin." He leaned over and pulled down the zipper. Halfway down, he stopped...shocked.

Gibbs approached and swore.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"That's not Stan Burley," Tony said, staring at the plasma.

"What do you mean that's not Stan Burley?" Tim asked. "That's the file. That's his official NCIS file, Tony."

"Yeah, but..."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"That's not Stan," Gibbs said, staring down at the corpse.

"No. It most definitely is _not_," Ducky agreed in shock.

"Then, who is it?" Palmer asked.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I don't know, Probie," Tony grumbled. "That's not Stan Burley, though. I met the guy and there's no way he shrunk two inches and changed the shape of his face like that. Find his _real_ file."

"This _is_ the real file, Tony!" Tim said in frustration.

"Find the other one! The _real_ one!"

The elevator dinged.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We've had problems before, Jethro...but not this."

Gibbs stared for another three seconds before turning and striding out of Autopsy.

"Now what, Dr. Mallard?" Palmer asked.

Ducky stared at the body...the body that was so obviously _not_ Stan Burley and furrowed his brow.

"We conduct the autopsy, Mr. Palmer. We will get nearer to solving the mystery of the life of this man by defining his death. Shall we begin?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We have a problem, Leon."

"A bigger problem than we already have?"

"Much."

"What is it?" Vance asked, already sounding weary.

"That's not Stan Burley in the body bag."

"What?"

"That's not Stan Burley. Or rather, that's not the Stan Burley _I_ know."

"Then, who is it?"

"Got me."

"And where is Stan Burley?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Elsewhere..._

Feet clumped loudly overhead and a man expended precious energy to sit up, chains clanking with the small motions.

"Hello?" he called. It was a weak plea, but they'd forgotten to feed him for the last three days and he'd found that occasionally there was a need to remind them that he was down here.

"Hello?" he called again.

He heard muffled voices. That was new. They never talked when he could hear them. He couldn't understand what was being said, but the voices were agitated. Upset. He pulled experimentally on the chains.

_Why do I keep doing that? They're not going to be any weaker just because I want them to be._

"Hey! Down here!"

The voices stopped and the clumping feet moved toward the far corner. To the door that was the only entrance to his prison.

The door opened, sending a bright beam of light onto his face. He squinted, dropping his head so that the long greasy hair fell over his eyes, shading them from light they rarely saw anymore. The footsteps came down, the approaching figure, a mere silhouette against the light. He said nothing but threw a loaf of bread. It hit the floor, the grimy, muddy floor. That didn't matter, though. Months of near-starvation had removed his sensitivities to that kind of thing.

There was a laugh as he began to devour the bread. Then, the footsteps receded and he was left in the dark again. He looked at the bread and horded a bit of it, wondering how long it might last.

_Way to go, Stan,_ he thought to himself. _You've managed to make a great impression. They're shaking in their boots._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Talk to me, McGee," Gibbs said.

Tim gulped. Tony and Ziva had left to conduct their suspect into interrogation and the evidence down to Abby. Gibbs was in one of the moods that made Tim wish he had someone to hide behind. No one being present, he took a deep breath and began.

"This is the file that came up when I accessed Stan Burley's file." He clicked on the plasma.

"That's not Stan Burley."

"I know, Boss. Tony told me. He told me that I needed to find the _real_ file...but that's the file that comes up."

"That's the same guy who is down in Autopsy."

"Really?"

"No, I'm joking, McGee," Gibbs growled.

"Yeah...I mean..." _Stop stammering, McGee!_ "...I thought that this would be a problem with the files...not with the person. Um...So...I...did more searching. I sifted through some of the layers by..." Gibbs was glaring. "...and you don't need to know how I did it. Anyway, Tony was right. This is the file that came up when I finished looking." He clicked again.

"That's Stan."

"Yeah. That's the file, but the number's been changed, and you see how there's an X just before his last name? That would throw off a search, not an in depth search, but for someone just verifying a record...like what I did first, it would do the trick. This false file would come up in place of the real one. There are some idiosyncrasies in it that you wouldn't notice unless you were looking for them. Whoever did this was good...but not an expert. ...and, Boss..."

"What, McGee? Spit it out!"

"They would have had to have been part of NCIS...or at least had access to our servers in order to change the files. It could be done from outside, but...but I don't know if they're good enough to have done it that way."

"Well, this guy was serving as Agent Afloat for the last six months."

Tim's eyes widened. "That long? Boss, what about–?"

"No one noticed he was missing. What are the last places Stan was stationed?"

"Which one?" Tim asked.

"Both of them, McGee!"

"Right!" He began scanning the files.

"Boss!" Tony called. "Wright wants to talk to the agent in charge. He seems to think we're all out to get him."

"You get me the info I need, McGee."

"Yeah, Boss." Tim nodded, hoping he would.

"Tony, you and Ziva head over to Stan's apartment. See how long it's been since anyone was there. Sublettor, whatever."

"On it, Boss!"

Gibbs stalked toward interrogation.

"Well, Probie?"

"There's a dead body down in Autopsy. It's the fake Stan. He was serving as Agent Afloat."

Tony actually gasped in unfeigned shock. "Those tours are supposed to be for six months. Stan's been missing for that long? No wonder el Jefe is in a bad mood."

"Abby was not happy with getting evidence from Norfolk," Ziva reported.

"Gibbs isn't happy about Stan Burley being missing...and his doppelganger being down in Autopsy," Tim said, typing furiously into his computer.

Ziva looked at the two men in surprised silence. "We have something to do, do we not?" she asked.

"Yeah, gear up, David," Tony said. "We're going to Stan's."

Tim watched the two of the leave and swallowed. He hated being left alone when Gibbs was in a mood like this. It reminded him unpleasantly of the first time he had met Gibbs...and he had stuttered then, too.

_Focus, Tim! Then, Gibbs won't have anything to hate you for._

He plugged in a few more queries and then gulped.

"Oh, no."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I was really surprised that he didn't ask me to sublet the place. He usually does when he's off on duty. Signs the proper forms and everything. Stan is a good tenant. I didn't like leaving the place empty, but he kept paying the rent every month; so what do ya do?"

"He was paying rent?" Tony asked. "How?"

"Check in the mail, like clockwork, every month. In fact, I should be getting one in another couple days."

"You sure about that?"

"Yeah. As sure as I can be, but Stan's pretty reliable. Never bounced a check, never late."

"When that check arrives, I want you to give me a call. Here's my card."

"Why?"

"NCIS business."

"Okay. Anything else you need?"

"We'll let you know." Tony closed the door and looked around the empty apartment.

"No one has lived here in quite some time," Ziva said, taking in the dust, the general unlived-in feeling of the place.

"Yeah. Well, let's take a gander."

"Is a gander not a male goose?"

"It's also a look."

"Odd." Ziva pulled on her gloves and began to investigate.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Petty Officer Wright, you admit to killing the NCIS agent on board your ship?" Gibbs asked.

Layne was nervous. "Yeah, I do. But it was an accident! He was fighting me for the gun. It went off three times." He looked down. "It's the first time I ever shot someone."

"You're telling me you didn't want to?"

"He left me no choice!" Layne said loudly. "Agent Burley destroyed my reputation and made it so I seemed like I had it in for him. People avoided me like I had the plague! He threatened to arrest me for drugs and said that he'd make it stick if I didn't do what he wanted!"

"What _did_ he want?"

"I had to let him use the armory for...his other stuff."

"Other stuff?"

"He was blackmailing other sailors and he used the terminal in the armory."

"Which ones?"

"I didn't really see most of them."

"Who _did_ you see?"

"One of the guys who worked on deck. He was one of the computer guys."

"Name."

"He..." Layne stopped.

Gibbs pounded his fist on the table. "Tell me his name!"

"Jason Orlson. He's a...a CTT, cryptologic technician."

"Who else?"

"An ET, electronics technician...and a guy...an intelligence specialist. I don't know his name. I just saw the insignia. I tried not to be there. I didn't want to see."

Gibbs held up a photo. "This is Stan Burley?"

"Yeah. That's him. You know what, Agent Gibbs? I don't care that the guy is dead. He was...I don't know exactly what he was doing, but it wasn't good. I just wish that I hadn't been the one to pull the trigger. I know the others hated him, too."

Gibbs held up another photo. "You ever see this guy?"

"No. Should I have?"

"I guess not."

"What's going to happen, Agent Gibbs? Can I talk to my wife?"

"What's going to happen is we are going to investigate. You can call your wife once we're done here."

"What more do you need to know? I shot the guy but I didn't mean to. I was just trying to force him to back off."

"You are going to write down everything you ever saw him do and every person you can remember him talking to. If you're helpful there, we'll take the next step."

"What's the next step?"

"We'll see what it is when we get to it." Gibbs stood up and left, holding the two photos in his hands. Wright had never seen Stan before in his life. He strode to the bullpen.

"Well, McGee?"

"Boss...I have bad news."

"More?"

"Yeah."

"Well, what is it?"

"Stan has been missing for more than six months."

"And you know this how?"

"I'm extrapolating based on when the fake file was created. I checked with the head of the Carolinas field office at Camp Lejeune and he was TAD-ed there for a couple of months after serving on board the Nimitz...and it was the real Stan serving there. That's the last place he was seen...officially.

"So...how long?"

"Just over ten months. The file was created ten months and eleven days ago."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They were shouting at each other now. Stan, for the first time in days, tried to stand. The ceiling was low and his head actually grazed it when he stood straight...not that he had the energy to stretch like that. All he knew was that his mind had clicked on. Neurons and synapses which had shut down were now firing again. Not on all cylinders, but firing nonetheless. He strained to make sense of the muffled voices.

"_...you chose... ...loose cannon!"_

"_He was the... ...don't complain about...can't do...now!"_

"_...killed? You think that... ...guy down there who..."_

"_...doesn't... ...can't identify..."_

"_...not stupid no matter what you... ...want out!"_

"_No one gets... ...hear me?"_

The front door slammed. Stan let himself sink to the ground. Just the brief period had tired him out. He usually tried to operate on as low an energy level as possible and that had taxed his meager reserves.

As he stretched out on the hard pallet he used for a bed, he tried to piece together what had been said. No matter what their plan was, something had definitely gone wrong, and one of them, at least, was having second thoughts.

_How wrong can things go before I'm a liability?_ Stan wondered. He couldn't answer that. He wasn't even sure why they'd kept him alive in the first place. Every so often they would ask him questions but they weren't difficult things. ...and it wasn't like he had family to ransom him. He barely had friends, just because of the life he had chosen.

_If they know I'm gone, they obviously have no clue where I am. Of course, neither do I; so I can hardly complain._

Still, he wondered how long he'd been down in the cellar. He'd tried counting the days initially, but after he lost a few, he had stopped, not really wanting to know.

He looked at the hunk of bread he'd horded that morning. He wanted to eat it right then.

_No, save it for later. There's got to be something to look forward to._

As small as it was, that was all he could do.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

_You can tell him, Tim. You know it's not really your fault. Tell Gibbs the truth! He can't kill you for that._ Tim almost groaned. Yes, Gibbs most certainly_ could_ kill him for telling the truth. _Ten months and eleven days. Ten months and eleven days. Gibbs is going to kill me._ Gibbs would kill him if he told the truth...when it involved the disappearance of a former member of his team. No, Tim knew there was no place safe from Gibbs' wrath when it involved something so serious. So far, it appeared to involve murder and kidnapping. How much more would crop up in the investigation? How much more blame would be laid on Tim's shoulders?

_Maybe I can make up for it..._ Tim swallowed nervously. He rather doubted it was possible. He just couldn't think of a good way to bring it up. Not right now. Maybe he could find some way to mention in passing that... Tim sighed. Gibbs had gone back to interrogation, leaving Tim to find more information. He was frantically compiling the necessary data, from both Stans. He wasn't holding back either. He was finding out as much as he could, no matter where the information was coming from.

As he had suspected, the false Stan, once he got beyond the basics, was obviously made up. There was no real history, no real background. Whoever had created this persona was banking on making few enough waves that detailed searches wouldn't be conducted. Either that or the operation was supposed to be short enough that it wouldn't matter. Tim couldn't help wondering what that meant for the real Stan. Was he still alive?

He turned his attention onto getting information on the real Stan. It was interesting in a way...seeing the man who had worked with Gibbs before Tony. And he was _nothing_ like Tony. For one thing, Tim was surprised to find that he didn't have many personal relationships. No family, his next of kin was blank. He'd _had_ a family, though. It looked as though they'd died. Few friends, his emergency contact was...Ducky. He had been a sports guy, but not in college. He had been a senator's aide and somehow used that to get him into NCIS. ...and... Tim's eyes bugged out.

_Tony is going to be sooo jealous._

The elevator dinged.

"Looks like Stan's been gone for a long time," Tony said, as he and Ziva came out.

"At least ten months and eleven days," Tim said.

"Well, the landlord said that he's been paying his rent by check in the mail for the last..." Tony stopped. "How did you do that? You been taking lessons from Gibbs?"

"No, Tony, he's been working."

Tony turned around. "Hey, Boss. So..."

"Stan's apartment has been vacant for the last ten months and he's been paying by check. Anything else?"

"We found no sign of a struggle. The landlord had never seen the fake Stan," Ziva said. "We have collected fingerprints and fibers, but I do not think that whatever happened to him occurred in his apartment."

"The last place he worked was Camp LeJeune," Tim said. "For two months after his last Agent Afloat assignment."

"So, whatever happened to him was somewhere between Camp LeJeune and his place here?"

"You know, Boss," Tim said, "he lists Ducky as his emergency contact. Maybe Ducky saw him. Did he say?"

"And I know that Abby loved him," Tony said. "She raved about how _cool_ he was."

"Does Abby know?" Tim asked.

"Yes. I am not sure which part upset her more: Stan being a villain and dead or Stan being missing," Ziva said.

"Why Stan?" Tim asked. "That's what I don't get. I mean, sure, he's a good agent from what I saw in his files...and he's rich and all, but there's got to be–"

"Whoa, hold on there, Probie," Tony interjected. "Stan's rich?"

"Loaded," Tim said. "But he doesn't have any family; so it's not ransom they want."

"Why is he rich?" Tony asked.

"I don't know, Tony. I hadn't got that far. It's hardly important," Tim said, although he only barely suppressed the grin he felt. Tony was jealous that Stan, who was missing, possibly dead, happened to be wealthy. "What did he want on the Roosevelt?"

"Information," Gibbs said. "And we don't have enough ourselves. McGee..."

Tim swallowed as Gibbs' eyes turned on him. _Focus, Tim!_ "Yeah, Boss?"

"Something wrong?"

"Um..." Tim was about to spill it when the elevator dinged, revealing Abby in all her manic chaos.

"Gibbs! You're late!"

Gibbs, distracted for the moment, looked at her. "What did I miss, Abby?"

"You're becoming _lax_, Gibbs!"

"What do you got, Abbs?"

"The guy in Autopsy! He's Stan!"

"Uh, no, he's not," Tony said. "We've met Stan already."

"He's not _our_ Stan, Tony, but he's _a_ Stan. In fact, he's a Stan Burley!" Abby announced.

"What?"

"His name is Stan Burley, but where _our_ Stan is Stanley, this Stan is just Stan."

"That can't be a coincidence," Gibbs said.

Tim turned to his computer and brought up the fake Stan's file. He began to backtrack through the information once more.

"I'll bet he changed his name," Abby said, "but I haven't gotten that far yet."

"Found it!" Tim said.

"Already?" Tony asked.

"I just checked to see if he filed for an official name change. That requires specific forms and there has to be a public notice of the change." Tim pushed a couple of buttons and the form came up. "He filed online and went before a judge."

"Albert Bastion Clarkson. I'd have changed _my_ name if my parents had done that to me," Tony said, grimacing.

"He got a new driver's license and everything. That one Abby has must be genuine."

"It looks like it," she said and bit her lip. "Why, though? Why go to all this effort...just to take Stan?"

"Not to take him, but to take his place," Ziva said. "The Agent Afloat assignment is what we should be focusing on."

"But you need to _find_ Stan!" Abby protested.

"What better way to find him than by finding out why the imposter felt it necessary to take his place?"

Abby opened her mouth to protest again, but stopped and then sighed. "Do you have anything else for me?"

"We went over Stan's apartment," Tony said. "Got some stuff from there."

"Lay it on me, Tony," Abby said with a small smile.

Tony and Abby walked to the elevator and headed down to her lab.

Gibbs stared at Tim who felt his gaze and looked only at his computer screen.

"Ziva...see to it that Petty Officer Wright gets a chance to contact his wife," Gibbs said, still staring.

"Yes, Gibbs."

"He was finishing up his statement. Once he's finished, I want you to see if anything stands out."

Ziva nodded, noting the stare but choosing not to comment.

"McGee."

"Yeah..." Tim cleared his throat. "Yes, Boss?"

Gibbs leaned over the desk, closer and closer.

"You want to tell me what you were about to tell me before?"

Tim's eyes darted back and forth between his monitor and Gibbs who was just on the edge of his peripheral vision. Involuntarily, he started to lean away.

"You know what you remind me of, McGee?"

"No, Boss."

"The criminals who don't want to tell me the information they know. Do you know how many of them held out?"

"No, Boss."

"Take a guess, McGee."

Tim swallowed. "Not many."

"Try none. They all give it up eventually. What is it?"

Tim had never felt his mouth so dry. All the saliva seemed to have dried up.

"McGee, I do _not_ have time for you to start going dumb...in both senses of the word. _Tell_ me what's going on!"

Tim still didn't look away from his computer. "You're going to kill me, Boss. I was really stupid. I mean..._really_ stupid. I should probably be sterilized so that my stupidity isn't passed on to another generation."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Gibbs suppress a grim smile. "What did you do, McGee?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What do we do now, Dr. Mallard?" Jimmy asked.

"Have you forgotten procedures already, Mr. Palmer? You're too young to be having a senior moment."

Jimmy flushed. "No, I mean...he's not Stan Burley. He's not really an NCIS agent. We did the autopsy...but now what? If he's not Stan..."

"Oh, I see. Whom do we notify when the time comes?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I don't think we need to worry about that just yet. This being an open case, we will have ample time to figure that out."

"Then, should I put him away?"

"Yes, please."

Ducky took off the protective scrubs and began to leave.

"Doctor?"

"Yes?"

"You're worried, aren't you?"

Ducky turned back. "Is that a genuine question, Mr. Palmer?"

"You knew...know Agent Burley."

"Yes, quite well."

"Then..."

"Yes, Mr. Palmer, I am worried. I am afraid of my friendship with Stan becoming something that can _only _be talked about in the past tense."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

By the time the sun went down (something Stan could usually discern by the dimness of the small sliver of light he always saw during the day), he figured that he had only a few more days at most before they decided to cut their losses.

_And I'll be one of the first things lost._

He really didn't want to be a casualty. He might already _be_ one, but the realization that something had gone wrong for them made him start to think of how he might turn that to his advantage. There had been no chance of having the upper hand, not at any point during his captivity. They kept him half-starved, chained. The chain reached far enough to get to the toilet that sat in one corner. There was no sink. They would toss him bottles of water every so often. If he didn't drink the whole thing during the day, they would take it away...so he always drank the water given him. ...but they had no way of knowing if he ate all the food they gave him.

_Okay, Stan, think. Think! You're an NCIS agent. You should be able to think of something._

He laughed to himself. Yes, he was an NCIS agent, but he was no MacGyver.

_Of course, even MacGyver had problems when he didn't have his knife with him. Unfortunately, the one time I didn't follow Gibbs' rule, I got dinged for it._

Resolutely, Stan pushed that thought away. It would do no good for him to blame himself for this situation. He crawled to the wall where the piton holding his chain was attached and began to feel it, seeing if there was anything he could do to get it out.

_How long did it take the Count of Monte Cristo to get away? Twenty years? I guess I should get started..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"It's not what I did...Boss...but...what I didn't do...that I should have done, that I _knew_ I should have done and I didn't...and..."

Gibbs slapped Tim's head.

"Stop stammering and spit it out, McGee!"

"I...didn't report something that happened...ten months..."

"...and eleven days ago?" Gibbs asked, his tone dangerously soft.

"Well, actually...it was twelve days."

"What is it!" Gibbs shouted.

"Someone stole my computer access for a day and I didn't notice...and when I did notice, I didn't report it." Tim was still staring straight ahead, not even daring to shift his gaze to the side anymore. He was afraid of what he'd see.

"And..."

"And that file...Stan's file...and the fake Stan's file... has a tag on it showing who created it. ...and it's my tag. Whoever got into the servers and made the fake Stan's file...they did it using my access code."

"How would someone have stolen your access code, McGee?" Gibbs' tone was measured...such that Tim knew he was holding back the kind of fury that would result in murder.

"It was...right after I got transferred down to Cybercrimes, right after Vance told me what I had to do. It required deeper access into the NCIS servers and the databases available. I had the access info saved on a flash drive...and I misplaced it. For a few hours...I thought."

"You misplaced information allowing total access to NCIS and you didn't think it necessary to _tell_ someone?"

_Here it comes,_ Tim thought.

"No...no, I...I didn't, Boss. I just...I figured I'd ...misplaced it...and that...nothing had happened. I double-checked. No one could have accessed the sensitive files without...and they hadn't...but ...I didn't think to check personnel files. ...and I...I guess I...I didn't want to..."

"What?"

"I'm sorry, Boss."

Gibbs leaned in so that he was maybe two inches from Tim's face. "If something happens and Stan dies because of your ineptitude...then, you'll have something to be sorry about. In the meantime..._figure out what they did...and why they did it...and how we're going to find them!_"

Tim flinched, but Gibbs had already straightened and walked away.

"Yes, Boss," he whispered.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"We need to go to Norfolk, Leon. There's too much we don't know," Gibbs said stiffly. He was standing just as stiffly as he was speaking.

"What _do_ you know?" Vance asked, looking slightly amused at Gibbs' didactic manner.

"That Stan was kidnapped ten months ago, that a fake file was created and inserted into the NCIS database, that the imposter had legally changed his name to Stan Burley, that he was blackmailing people on the Roosevelt."

"What kind of people?"

"People in intelligence positions."

"For what purpose?"

"That's why we need to go to Norfolk. We need to speak to a number of people there. The skipper is in the process of calling them back, but it will be better if we're on scene, rather than getting them transferred here first."

"Agreed. Keep me in the loop, but do what you can. What are the odds that Agent Burley is still alive after nearly a year?"

"If they kept him alive at all, then, he probably still is now. We haven't found a body; so I'd guess that he's still alive."

"For how much longer? Now that their impersonator is dead. It seems unlikely that they would not know that he was killed."

"That I don't know."

Vance nodded. "I hope you find him. Alive."

Gibbs only nodded in return and walked out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Hey, look at this," Abby said, her voice surprised.

"What?" Tony leaned over. "You just barely scanned in the fingerprints."

"Yeah, that's what's hinky."

"What?"

"I got a match."

"Already?"

"Yeah."

"Who?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Ziva looked at the statement given by Petty Officer Wright. He had been grateful to call his wife, and she felt little besides sympathy for his current state. Holding him now was more of a technicality. Abby had found fingerprints of both men on the gun. If these other sailors did bear out his tale, Wright would more than likely be released. For his sake, she was relieved that his career in the Navy would not necessarily be over. He seemed like a good man.

"Where's Tony?" Gibbs said, obviously in a dark mood.

She looked up and saw Tim wince but remain silent.

"He is still down with Abby."

"Get him. We're going to Norfolk."

"All of us, Boss?" Tim asked.

Ziva looked at Tim again. He had sounded much too tentative.

"Are you done, McGee?"

"Not yet."

"Then, no. You are staying."

"Yes, Boss." Tim's eyes went immediately back to his computer and he didn't meet Ziva's gaze at all.

"Now, David!" Gibbs snapped.

Ziva nodded and headed to the elevator.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened revealing Tony and Abby.

"Stan was at Stan's place!" Abby said eagerly, bounding into the bullpen.

"She means that the fake Stan was at the real Stan's apartment, Boss."

"But the manager said that he did not recognize the fake Stan," Ziva said.

"How often do _you_ see your manager, Ziva?" Tony asked.

"Point taken."

"It would have been easy to avoid him."

"When would he have been there? There was no sign of a break-in," Ziva said...but then, she answered her own question before anyone else could. "Agent Burley sublets his apartment. His manager said as much."

"Oh, that's clever," Tony said. "What better way to get access to Stan than by living in his place for a few months?"

"And fingerprints can last for years on any undisturbed surface," Abby said. "Stan should clean better."

"Be glad that he didn't," Gibbs said. "Grab your gear, Tony. We're headed to Norfolk."

"To find out what the fake Stan was doing?"

Gibbs nodded and stalked to the elevator. Tim was noticeable by his silence and his lack of movement.

"Hey, Probie, didn't you hear–?" Tony began but then stopped when he saw Ziva shake her head minutely. "You know what this reminds me of? _Gattaca_! Only...no one died in that one...well, except for..." He broke off abruptly. "You know what? This is nothing like _Gattaca_. Never mind. I'll figure out which one it really is." He hurried to the elevator and got on just before the doors closed.

"What did you do, Tim?" Abby asked, wrinkling her forehead.

"Gibbs has other things for me to do," Tim said and looked back at his monitor. "I'm sure they'll send me any information I need."

"Wouldn't it be faster for you to actually _be_ where they're–?"

"Abby, I have lots of work to do."

"Okay, Tim. Whatever you say."

Abby went back down to her lab and Tim let out a sigh, both of relief and of regret.

_Okay, Tim. You find out how and when and why Stan disappeared...and maybe Gibbs won't kill you...or fire you. Right._

Tim figured that if anything had happened to Stan, he'd be in so much trouble that they wouldn't be able to find his body...and considering Tony's description of what Abby thought of Stan, there would be no forensic evidence of foul play.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Um, Boss?"

"What?"

"Why are we leaving McGee...the computer guy...behind? I mean, I'm not one to complain..."

Ziva snorted. Tony glared.

"...about a free trip to Norfolk, but seeing as we're more than likely going to need someone to do the geek speak thing, it seems a little..."

"A little what, DiNozzo?"

"Weird, Boss. It seems weird."

Gibbs didn't reply. Very emphatically.

"Okay, then." Tony looked out the window.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Timothy, you look like your life is over," Ducky commented, a few hours later.

Tim jerked his head up.

"I'm not getting anywhere, Ducky," he said, hopelessly. "Gibbs told me to figure it out, but right now, I'm not seeing anything. This guy, this...fake Stan. He didn't have anything to do with the Navy or with Agent Burley or anything at all...not that I can see. Not before ten months ago."

"Ten months?"

"That's when they took Agent Burley."

"Ah. Has it been so long?" To Tim's surprise, Ducky looked chagrined.

"What's wrong?"

"I can hardly believe that I let so much time go by without speaking to Stan."

"When did you last?"

"Just before he went to Camp LeJeune. We talked about getting together for lunch again when he was finished there, but...somehow, it never happened and I didn't even think about it. It was around the time that the team had been split up and we lost Director Shephard. I suppose it was too easy to let outside concerns fall by the wayside. We have been doing that too much of late."

"Yeah. Much too easy," Tim agreed, thinking of his horrible lapse. "You didn't see him after that?"

"No, I'm afraid not."

"I was hoping you might be able to help. My timeline doesn't seem to be getting any firmer."

"Credit cards?"

"Waiting for the company to get back to me."

"Phone?"

"Same."

"And you are waiting?"

"I'm..." Tim swallowed. It was an irritating habit, he noticed. "...I'm kind of in enough hot water as it is."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I kind of screwed up."

"How is that?"

Tim considered the wisdom of telling someone else who cared for Stan's well-being on a personal level that he was responsible for the success of the kidnapping. He was saved from having to reply by his phone ringing.

"Yeah?"

"_McGee, we're sending you a boatload of data that could be useful. Gibbs says he doesn't care how long it takes you."_

Tim sighed. "Thanks, Tony."

"_What did you do? Ow! Thanks, Boss. Looks like we're staying here tonight, McGeek. Have a nice evening."_

"Thanks." Tim hung up and checked for the data transfer. It was coming in. "Looks like I'm not going home tonight, Ducky."

"You think Gibbs wants you that devoted?"

Tim just looked at Ducky.

"Of course, of course. Silly question. I wish you luck. If I could be of any help, don't hesitate to call."

Tim grimaced. "Thanks, Ducky." He watched Ducky leave and heaved another loud sigh. "Well, the data won't organize itself." He got down to business and hoped that he'd have something to tell Gibbs that would help solve the case.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It was always hard to sleep at night...mostly because he felt that he wasn't really doing his duty if he wasn't trying to escape. Stan would lay awake for hours his mind running restlessly over ideas for getting away from his captors...none of which had the slightest chance of working.

However, on this night, he was crouched beside the piton, feeling for weaknesses...and finding none. It was almost enough to make him lose hope again and go back to his listless waiting.

_Come on, Stan. There's got to be something you can do!_

Carefully, he crawled out as far as he could pull the chain, resenting the clink. It chafed his ankles, and there wasn't even any chance of picking a lock on it...the clamps had been welded together. Solid metal, all the way around. When he reached the end of his metallic leash, he stretched out as far as he could and felt for something that might be of use. He vaguely remembered trying this before, but he figured it couldn't hurt to try again.

All he found were spider webs...and the unhappy denizens of said webs.

_Got to be something. Something..._

He was tired. He'd used up what little energy he had been given by the loaf of bread he'd consumed so many hours ago. With a sigh, he crawled back to the pallet and collapsed.

_Tomorrow. I'll think tomorrow._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

"I didn't have a choice, Agent Gibbs! He was NCIS; he said that he could..."

"...make my life a living hell if I didn't do what he wanted because..."

"...he knew where I lived. He knew my weaknesses. He knew about..."

"...my kids..."

"...my family..."

"...my past..."

"...how much I needed to keep my nose clean. The stuff he wanted; it wasn't..."

"...top secret stuff, but it was important. I didn't like the idea, but..."

"...I didn't know what else to do. We met in the armory and used the terminal there at first and then..."

"...he would bring me requests. He's the Agent Afloat! It wasn't like..."

"...this would be anything weird. He's supposed to be on top of things, accessing..."

"...whatever he wanted by using my terminal when he needed to."

"What do you think? He was looking at troop movements in Afghanistan..."

"...Iraq..."

"...naval deployments..."

"...ballistic missile trajectories..."

"He never said why and..."

"...I didn't ask..."

"...although I could guess."

"I'm glad he's dead."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

It had been a long day. First, the drive to Norfolk...filled with its awkward silence. Then, the interrogation of four sailors who were more than willing, once it was made clear that their involvement was already known, to elaborate on what they had done and why.

It was past midnight now and they were all tired, even Gibbs, if the coffee he was downing was any indication.

"All that information," Ziva said. "Do you realize how much money he could make from that?"

"Do you realize, Officer David, how much damage that kind of information could do?" Tony retorted, rubbing his eyes.

"Yes, I do, Tony. Which is why it makes sense that our fake Stan would want it...but why do it this way? Why not just...?"

"If he hacked in himself, it would take a lot of time with him sitting at computers," Tony said. "When I was doing that searching stuff for McGee, it was weird for me to be doing it and I got some glances. Any sort of scrutiny would have shown what I was doing. It's too dangerous."

"By getting the people assigned to those areas, he removed suspicion from himself and dispersed the effort involved over a number of people," Gibbs added. "He knew exactly what he was doing."

"Where is all the data he stole?" Ziva asked. "And why is McGee not here to help us find it?"

"He has other work to do."

"What did McGee do, Boss?" Tony asked. "He must have majorly ticked you off to–"

"Have you heard anything from him?" Gibbs asked.

"Nothing yet. He's probably asleep at his computer, drooling all over the keyboard."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was not asleep. He was awake, feverishly working through the crapload of data he'd been given, hoping to find something, anything. He was afraid he wouldn't. He was afraid that Stan would die because of him, and he didn't need that hanging over him.

_This would be so much easier if I was actually at the computers rather than accessing the information this way,_ he thought. He wished he dared tell Gibbs that, but he didn't. _I'm the computer expert. I can do the job no matter what. Right._

He stared at the data mindlessly for a few minutes and suddenly realized what he _wasn't_ seeing. Immediately, he stood and hurried to the cell where Layne Wright was being held.

He was asleep...ostensibly, but Tim was in enough of a hurry that he didn't worry about it.

"Petty Officer Wright," Tim said. "Wake up."

"Is it morning?" Wright asked, groggy.

"Technically."

He sat up, squinting at Tim. "What? Who are you?"

"Agent McGee. I'm with NCIS, investigating the murder of...Stan Burley."

"Investigating? Why? I admitted to it. What more is there to investigate?"

"You'd be surprised."

"What do you want?"

"You said that...Agent Burley used the terminal in the armory."

"Yeah."

"Did he ever...transfer any of the data he...gathered?"

"Transfer it?"

"Yeah. Off the ship. Did he ever send it elsewhere?"

"I didn't really pay attention to what he was doing."

Tim felt frustrated. "That doesn't mean you didn't see. What do you know?"

"How is this going to help me?"

"It's going to keep me from getting ticked off that you're only worried about yourself."

"Worried about myself?" Wright stood up, angry. "How do you think he _got_ to me, Agent McGee? He threatened my wife!"

"Only at the end, according to your statement," Tim said, flatly. He was tired, worried, and while he sympathized, he wasn't in the mood to fight this man to get the information he needed. "Before that, he was only threatening you. Besides, he's dead now and the only danger you're in is directly proportional to how helpful you are. How often did he make transfers?"

"I don't know!"

"Often?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?" Tim asked, incredulous. "Maybe? The man you killed was a criminal. I don't care about him. What I do care about is the lives of other people who could be in danger. You're a member of the U.S. Navy. Isn't your motto 'Not self but country'? Are you so determined to make yourself right that you'll sacrifice the lives of others?"

They glared at each other for a long moment.

"It wasn't often," Wright said, finally. "Maybe three or four times and none at all at the end."

"Big transfers?"

"They didn't seem to take long."

"Thank you, petty officer."

"Why did you hesitate over his name?"

"What?"

"Twice. You hesitated about using Agent Burley's name. Why?"

"Worry about things that directly affect you."

"I am. You said he's a criminal and you don't care what happened to him. Why not?"

"It's early in the morning, petty officer. Get some sleep." Tim turned and walked away, pulling out his phone as he walked. He didn't dare call Gibbs, but he called Tony.

"_What?"_ Tony sounded as groggy as Wright.

"Catch you sleeping, Tony?" Tim asked.

"_Are you still awake, McGee?"_

"Obviously. Tell Gibbs that–"

"_You tell Gibbs."_

"Not a good idea. Just tell Gibbs that–"

"_What's going on, McGee? What did you do?"_

"Tony, drop it. It's not important. Tell Gibbs that the bulk of the data the fake Burley gathered is probably still on board the Roosevelt. He doesn't seem to have made enough transfers to send out data gathered over the course of months. Petty Officer Wright thinks that he only sent out stuff at the beginning and never very large transmissions. Got that?"

"_Maybe. What did you do?"_

"Tony, just tell Gibbs!"

"_Fine, fine. Data still on board the Roosevelt. I still don't see why–"_

Tim heard a _thwack_.

"_Thanks, Boss. Yeah, McGee says that–"_ There was a brief pause. _"Uh-oh, McGoo. Bossman wants to talk to you. I think you're in trouble."_

Tim swallowed. Tony had no idea.

"_What, McGee."_ Gibbs' voice was flat.

Tim quickly relayed what he had told Tony.

"_So, where is it?"_

"I don't know, Boss," Tim said. "...if I could just..."

"_Just what, McGee."_

Tim took a deep breath and plunged in. "Boss, you're within your rights to fire me for what I...failed to do. You are, and we both know it. We both know that what I did could have gotten Agent Burley killed...but Boss, I can't do the work you need me to do...unless I'm there, unless I can see these things in real time. I have to have my hands on them. Yes, I can work with it this way, but don't you want to give Agent Burley the best chance he has?"

"_You saying that we can't find him without your help?"_

"No. I don't know what it will take, Boss, but I do know that I should be doing my best...and I can't from here."

Gibbs didn't reply.

"Please, Boss. Let me make up for what I did."

"_You think this will do it?"_

"No."

"_It's about 190 miles to Norfolk. You have four hours."_

The phone clicked in his ear.

"Yes, Boss."

Tim hung up and turned to go...and stopped abruptly when he almost ran over Vance.

"Agent McGee, just what _did_ you do?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan tossed and turned on the hard floor...and eventually gave up on sleeping. His body would let him know when it had had enough. He crawled back to the fullest extent of the chain around his legs and began another sweep of the room. Eventually, he ran into the toilet, the one piece of sanitation he'd been granted...mainly because they had to come down there, too.

He cursed and rubbed his head, feeling dizzy from the energy he'd been expending. He was about to give up and go back to trying to sleep when he smiled at the toilet.

_Maybe I _am_ MacGyver,_ he thought and got to work while the house was silent.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"Sir?" Tim asked, feeling as though his professional life was flashing before his eyes.

"Is it a firing offense?" Vance asked.

"Uh...possibly, sir."

Vance stared at him with that inscrutable expression he so often used. It really rivaled Gibbs' glare in terms of being able to make Tim feel like he was two inches tall...and Tim had gone through enough of that in the last 24 hours to last a lifetime.

"Then, you'd better wait and tell me after the case is over." He stood to the side to allow Tim room to walk by.

Tim took one hesitant step. "Sir?"

"You had better tell me after, Agent McGee, and don't make me regret letting you go now."

"No, sir!" Tim said, feeling a strange impulse to salute...an impulse which he quickly suppressed. Instead, he ran to the elevator, his bag looped over his shoulder as he ran to get in a car that would take him to Norfolk.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Three hours later, Tim was closing in on Norfolk...and sleep was closing in on him. His adrenaline rush had worn off and he was feeling more than a little droopy. In fact, he was worried that he'd fall asleep at the wheel. The only reason he didn't pull off was Gibbs' order. Four hours gave him extra time, but not that much. Not enough for sleeping. He stopped only to get a refill on his coffee. He didn't care that it was crappy. It was caffeine. That was all that mattered.

By the time he reached Norfolk, he was almost seeing double. It was weird feeling so terribly tired and so incredibly wired at the same time.

"Go on in, Agent McGee. I think they've fallen asleep."

Tim nodded wearily, thanking the guard. He parked and stumbled into the office. They were all asleep. Even Gibbs. Tim wasn't going to wake them, but he tripped over a chair and went all the way down to the floor, not having the energy to keep himself upright.

The three sleepers came awake with a jolt. Tim got to his feet as quickly as he could.

"Whoa, McGee, where did you come from?" Tony asked, rubbing his eyes. "What time is it?" He looked at his watch. Blinked and then looked again, not believing what he was seeing. "Four-thirty in the morning? What are you doing here?"

"You look terrible, McGee," Ziva commented. "Did you not sleep at all?"

Tim shook his head. "I've pulled all-nighters before. No problem." _Why am I lying? I'm dying here._

Gibbs looked at him, as if assessing how much he could get out of Tim before he was useless. ...and then, obviously decided he was already useless because he pointed to a cot.

"Grab a couple of hours, McGee. Be on the ship by 0630 or don't bother coming."

Tim nodded even as Ziva and Tony looked at Gibbs in surprise, although neither spoke. He walked over to the indicated cot and sank down onto it. He was asleep almost before he lay down.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"You need any more sleep or are you up?" Gibbs asked, the question really more of an order. _You _are_ up...or else I'll get you up._

"I'm up," Tony said and Ziva nodded. "Boss..."

"What, Tony?"

"What's going on?"

"We're investigating murder, espionage and kidnapping, DiNozzo. Have you forgotten already?"

"No, with McGee. What did he do?"

"Last I checked, DiNozzo, McGee was on _my_ team, not yours."

"He is...but he's my teammate. What's going on?"

"Yes, Gibbs. Why are you being so hard on him?"

Gibbs glared at them both. "Are you ready to go to work?"

"Yes."

"Good. Then, let's get going." Gibbs turned and walked out.

Tony looked at Tim, dead to the world on the cot. Even with the conversation going on, he had not stirred.

"Man, this is worse than with Abby and Mikael."

Ziva agreed. "Yes. What do you think he did?"

"Kidnapped Stan himself?" Tony asked as he bent over to grab his gear. "I can't think of anything else...especially since McGee is killing himself to get results. It must be bad."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

They were searching the fake Stan's quarters on the Roosevelt when Tim joined them at 0625. He didn't look a whole lot better than he had before, but Gibbs said nothing to him beyond ordering him to start working. Tim nodded and knelt down beside the bed to begin examining the area, searching for a place the fake Stan might have hidden information. At about 0700 when the skipper came in, they had found nothing.

"You want to tell me just _what_ is going on, Agent Gibbs? Why are you now searching Agent Burley's quarters? Why have you sequestered four of my men and why am I being kept in the dark about it?"

Gibbs looked at him and made a quick decision.

"Come inside and close the door, skipper."

He did so, but looked most unwilling. "I'm not going to be involved in some sort of cover-up for NCIS, Agent Gibbs. If your man did something illegal, I'm not going to allow one of _my_ men to pay the price for it!"

"Glad to hear it," Gibbs said calmly.

"All right, what is it?"

"The Stan Burley you knew was not the real Stan Burley."

"What?"

"The Stan Burley you _should_ have been working with disappeared approximately ten months ago and was replaced by an imposter. We're still not sure on all the details of how it was done..."

Tony saw Tim flush and look at the floor.

"...but the man Petty Officer Wright killed is not the Stan Burley who worked on my team. We have since discovered that his record was falsified."

"Why would this have happened?"

"He wanted to get aboard your ship."

"For what purpose?"

"To get information. Carriers contain a lot of sensitive data, as you're aware, and as this Stan Burley was aware. We think he was working for someone else because he sent some of the data off the carrier a few months ago. Right now, we are trying to figure out where he might have stashed the rest of it. We have no way of knowing if he had other accomplices on the ship and we'd rather not tip our hand...particularly if the real Stan Burley is still alive."

"You think he is?"

"For now. Once the news of the fake Stan's death gets out, and once it is known that we are aware of the imposter's identity, the real Stan might be considered a nuisance. Can I have your cooperation in this respect, skipper?"

"You're sure that the man who served on my ship was _not_ the real agent?"

"Positive. He wasn't even employed by NCIS."

"Then, you have my cooperation. What's going to happen to Wright?"

"He'll have to answer for killing the imposter, but I can't imagine it will amount to much. That's up to JAG. Once we have all the information, his situation will be better."

The skipper nodded. "You need any help, you can ask the CMC."

"Thanks, skipper."

As soon as the door closed, Gibbs turned on the others. "Well?" Somehow, it seemed as though he was looking only at Tim...blaming him for any lack of information.

"Whatever he was hiding, Boss," Tony said, trying to pull Gibbs' attention off Tim, "it's not in here."

"Where is it?"

"I don't know, Boss."

"Find out!"

"I know!" Tim said, suddenly. He visibly flinched when Gibbs glared at him, but he continued. "He did a lot of his work in the armory, on the terminal there. With Wright looking the other way..."

"Go."

Tim jumped up and left without even asking where the armory might happen to be on the ship. Ziva caught Tony's eye and he nodded, scooting out the door before Gibbs said anything else.

"Anything to say, Ziva?"

"What has McGee done wrong, Gibbs?"

"Have we finished in here?"

"I believe so. I do not think he hid anything in his quarters." She paused. "You know, McGee is working very hard."

"That's what I expect of him. Nothing less." Gibbs straightened. "Let's go talk to the CMC."

"Yes, Gibbs."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Wrong way, Probie!"

Tim turned around and Tony saw a look of heartfelt relief on his face. That was a rare enough expression when Tim was looking at Tony; so things were not going well.

"Thanks, Tony. Where is it?"

"Follow me. Finally, my months on board a carrier are going to stand me in good stead."

Tim laughed.

"Don't trip over the knee-knockers."

"I already did. Twice."

"Pick up your feet then, McGoo." Tony set off, sensing that this was not the time to be interrogating Tim on why he had suddenly turned into pond scum in Gibbs' eyes. The armory was in approximately the same place as on the Seahawk and so it was easy enough to find it. Tony pointed to the terminal. "Have at it, McGeek."

Tim nodded and sat down. His eyes were still a bit heavy, but they were clear and his fingers flew as he began to search through the hard drive. Tony waited for a while in uncharacteristic silence, looking around the armory, ostensibly seeing if the fake Stan had secreted something there, but in reality, just waiting for an opportunity to pounce.

"So..."

"Busy, Tony."

Okay, not yet.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"I'm the CMC, not a babysitter, Agent Gibbs," the command master chief said, flipping through some data.

"You're the CMC," Gibbs said. "You don't get that position by being oblivious to what's going on."

"Master Chief!"

"Later, Ensign," he snapped. "I'm in charge of gauging morale. ...and I shouldn't have to tell you that it's rock bottom right now. If we'd had to be out any longer, I would have recommended a replacement Agent Afloat."

"You knew something was off?" Ziva asked.

"Yes."

"And you tracked it to your NCIS agent?" Gibbs asked.

"Yes. The men didn't make any reports to me, but there was something about the way Agent Burley was mentioned. The Agent Afloat is never the most popular person on a carrier. He's the watchdog, but Agent Burley had been so highly recommended before that this attitude was strange...and we hadn't had any major problems with this crew before. I don't believe in coincidences."

"Neither do I. Beyond the attitude of the crew, what's your opinion of...Agent Burley?"

"He swaggered. I don't like men who swagger. He started out okay, but after a while, _I_ felt tempted to give it to him. I gave my reports to the skipper. He knows already."

"Ever catch him places he shouldn't have been?"

"That was one of the problems. To him, there was _no_ place he shouldn't be. While that's technically true, he was interfering in ship operations often enough that I had to order him off the bridge."

"Specifically?"

"Intelligence ops and the armory...but that was after I caught him hanging around the bridge, taking over communications one too many times."

"Which place?"

"Here." He pointed. "Is there anything else, Agent Gibbs?"

"No, Master Chief. Thank you for your time."

The CMC walked over to the ensign who'd tried to get his attention before.

"This terminal. If McGee is right, he was sending messages from here," Ziva said. "He should go through the...keystrokes, I believe."

"There's a lot of things McGee should be doing," Gibbs grunted, but he turned and headed in the direction of the armory.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Gibbs seems pretty ticked off at you, McGee," Tony said casually.

The silence was deafening. Tony looked over and saw that Tim had not shifted position. He was still searching.

"Seems to me that you must have messed up on the level of revealing state secrets," Tim fingers fumbled over the keys for a split second before Tony continued, "in order to get this kind of treatment."

Tim still said nothing.

"Come on, McGee, you gotta give me _something_."

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss. Nothing physically hidden in here, but McGee is still plowing his way through the–"

"How much longer are you going to take, McGee?" Gibbs demanded.

"I don't know, Boss." Tim turned around. "Clarkson wasn't an expert, but he _was_ skilled. There are lots of ways he could have hidden the files and I don't–"

"Stop explaining and get it done, McGee."

"Yes, Boss." Tim turned back.

"Boss, ease up," Tony said.

"It's okay, Tony," Tim said softly. "Leave it. It's fine."

"No, it's not, McGee! You're working your butt off for this case."

"That's my job."

Tony turned back to Gibbs who was staring at him implacably. "What is going on, Boss?"

Gibbs still said nothing, and Tony didn't have the stare down in him.

"We are all worried about finding Stan," Ziva said, "but why this punishment?"

"Hey, guys," Tim said.

"That's what I'd like to know."

"Guys!" Tim said more loudly. "I found it!"

Tony turned. "Found what?"

"The data he'd been hiding. I was right. He knew what he was doing. It's an easy way of hiding data. You just have to put it in with files that have a different extension and change the extension of the file you're trying to hide. Then, it appears to be a corrupted file if someone else clicks on it and..." He trailed off at the impatient expressions on everyone's faces. "...and I found it," he finished lamely.

"Encrypted?"

"No. Not encrypted. Just hidden." He leaned over and pulled it up.

"Good," Gibbs said. Not good job or good work, just good. It was good that they knew the data was there, not good that Tim had found it. "Ziva, show McGee the terminal."

"Yes, Gibbs."

"Tony, you start checking that data. See what there is."

"Yes, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

As Stan had figured, they didn't notice that the toilet wasn't working exactly right. It didn't look any different from the outside. He smiled to himself and listened for the footsteps. Certain that they wouldn't hear, he began to work on the piton.

_Why didn't I think to try this before?_

He knew why. At the beginning, they'd been watching him closely. There had been no chance. Then, had followed the days...weeks, probably, of lethargy where it was all he could do to keep himself from sleeping to death. As he scritched at the area around the piton, he noticed that there was some rust there. It made him wonder, really wonder, for the first time just how long he'd been down here. It was a sobering...and frightening thought that he had no idea how many days had gone by. So much of his time was a blur. Even this enervated him to the point of exhaustion. He would have to stop soon and rest. Before he did, he gave an experimental tug. Nothing. Sighing, he crawled back to his pallet and lay down, hiding his makeshift tool beneath him, sliding it into his threadbare pants. They'd never done a full body search after putting him down here.

There was another argument. He figured that no matter how many days he'd been down here, he could probably count the number he had left on one hand.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

"McGee, what have you done?"

"Lots of things, Ziva. I've been working," Tim said as they headed to the bridge.

"McGee," Ziva grabbed his arm. "You are not supposed to be slave to Gibbs' whims. You are a special agent...but he is not treating you like that. He is treating you worse than Tony does."

"Ziva..." Tim looked down and then looked up at the ceiling...before meeting her gaze. "...I deserve this. Leave it alone." Then, he started walking again.

"I do not think you do."

"That's only because you don't know." He looked back. "Maybe if we finish this case, I'll be able to make up for it. As it is...I'd rather not talk about it."

"Very well." But she looked mutinous.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Well, it's as bad as we thought it'd be," Tony reported as he skimmed through the data. "...but it could have been worse. At least, he didn't get a chance to send any of it out...although he got plenty."

Gibbs looked over his shoulder and nodded.

"He must have been planning on selling it...but I don't get why he didn't send more of this stuff out," Tony continued. "Some of it is time-sensitive. Troop movements are good, but they can change really fast. I saw some of that myself. One wrong step, one roadside bomb and the troop movements can all change."

Gibbs stared at the information. There was a lot of it there. "He was holding out for more. Send a little bit out to show that he can do it and hold the rest for when he can negotiate."

"Holding out from whom?"

"McGee'll have to trace where the messages were sent."

"What's up, Boss? What did McGee do? Kill someone?"

Gibbs glared. "Maybe."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Ducky, what brings you up here? Another doppelganger?" Abby asked.

"No, my dear. One was quite enough, thank you. I wanted to see what progress is being made."

"Well, I haven't heard from the gang at Norfolk, but Tim had to go there. Early in the morning judging by the state of his desk. Do you know what he's done to tick Gibbs off?"

"No idea."

"Me neither. It's really weird though." The computer beeped at her. "But not as weird as this."

"What is it?"

"Well, I've been running a facial recognition search through the database to see if there's any other place our fake Stan showed up. It was just a wild goose chase, something I hadn't tried yet, but look!"

Ducky stood and walked over to her monitor. "It looks as though you have indeed nabbed a wild goose, Abigail. I am most impressed. That does not happen often."

"But I don't know exactly _what_ I've nabbed. Are you sure it's a goose?"

Ducky looked again. "Perhaps, in the spirit of this case, you have nabbed a different breed of goose."

"How many breeds are there?"

"Interesting question. Geese are a part of the subfamily _Anserinae_. They are related to swans, interestingly enough. There are three types of true geese and..."

"Ducky, as fascinating as this is, it was kind of a rhetorical question," Abby said, grinning. She reached for her phone and called Gibbs.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"What is it, Abby?" Gibbs asked.

"_Gibbs, you will never believe who just popped up again!"_

"Our fake Stan?"

"_Wow! How did you guess?"_

"Abby."

"_He worked for NCIS!"_

"Tell me how this is news?"

"_Because he worked in the mail room! He delivered mail...as Clarkson, not as Stan!"_

"When?"

"_Well, it looks like he started here before he changed his name and had all the official documentation. He quit sometime after that. So...he was here. But even if he was, I don't know how he could have got into the computers. It's not like the mail room has secure access."_

"Thanks, Abbs."

"_Gibbs, tell Ducky that I don't need a lecture about geese."_

"Later, Abbs. Gotta go." Gibbs hung up.

"What is it, Boss?" Tony asked, still slightly stunned by what Gibbs had said.

"Come with me."

"Already doing that, Gibbs."

_Thwack!_

"Thanks, Boss."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"It's got to be in here somewhere, Ziva. ...he couldn't have gone in and erased the record of what happened," Tim said in frustration.

"Could he not?"

"Well...it's...it's _possible._ I could do it...but I don't think our fake Stan could. The way he made the new file and disguised the old one. It shows a lower level of ability...I don't think he could. It's not..."

"McGee, find anything?" Gibbs snapped, leaning over Tim's shoulder.

"Not yet, Boss. I'm looking."

"Guess what Abby just found out." Again, he seemed to speaking _only_ to Tim, not to Ziva and Tony.

"What is it, Boss?" Tim asked softly

"Not here. With me." Gibbs straightened and walked away.

Tim waited only a second before jumping up and following, Tony and Ziva right behind. Gibbs led them to an empty room and then turned around to face...Tim, once more.

"What is it, Boss?" Tony asked, staring at Tim almost as often as he was looking at Gibbs.

"Abby just discovered that Clarkson worked in the NCIS mail room before changing his name to Stan Burley."

"Well, that would explain how he got to Headquarters...but that wouldn't get him into the system, would it?" Tony asked.

"No, it wouldn't. Would you like to take a guess as to _how_ he got into the system?" Gibbs asked, staring only at Tim.

"How?" Ziva asked.

"McGee? Would you like to tell them?" Gibbs asked.

Tim looked down for a moment, shoulders slumping. Then, he straightened and looked Gibbs in the eye, speaking to Tony and Ziva but not looking at them at all.

"Clarkson stole a flash drive containing access codes for the NCIS computer system. My flash drive. I had received it from Vance when I started working in Cybercrimes. I noticed it was missing but when it turned up again a few hours later, I didn't report it. I only checked to be sure that no one had hacked the sensitive files. I never checked personnel. It was my fault."

"You didn't report it? Why not, McGee? You're so...anal about rules and regs."

"Because I'm an idiot, Tony," Tim said, finally looking away from Gibbs. "That's why. If Stan dies...or if he's already dead..." He looked back at Gibbs. "Boss...let me get back to work. I can find it. I can trace the messages... We can figure out where he is."

"Go."

Tim nodded and left the room, as much to get away from the surprise (the condemnation?) on the faces of Tony and Ziva as to get back to work. They looked at each other and then at Gibbs.

"Boss?"

"You two go and talk to the CMC. See what more he can tell us about the crew. Anyone who might have been friendly with Clarkson. That would have been strange enough considering the general feeling."

"On it, Boss." Tony nodded and walked out.

Ziva followed but then paused. "Do you really blame McGee for Stan's abduction?"

Gibbs didn't answer. He just stared at her.

"I did not think so. You should not let him blame himself either." Then, she walked out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Every little scritching sound that emanated from Stan's small corner of the basement made his heart stop. ...it had stopped so many times over the last few hours, he was surprised he was still alive. Surely that was asking for an arrhythmia. Every minute or so, he would brush up the results of his scritching and sweep them under his pallet. They didn't ever clean down here...for obvious reasons. The only worry was if they actually looked at the wall. He couldn't hide what he was doing. They would know if they cared to look. He was banking on them _not_ caring because they barely stepped down here if they could help it. Toilet or not, this place stank...well, Stan figured it _must_ stink because of the fact that he hadn't had a shower in...a long time and people tend to stink. He couldn't really tell after so much time.

_Maybe if I get out, they'll pass out from the smell..._ Stan suppressed a smile at the thought. _I'm losing my mind._

_Scritch...scritch..._

He'd been scritching for an hour since he'd last tried. With a hope he was nearly certain was vain, he put down the small piece of the toilet and tugged on the piton. It didn't move...but a few particles of concrete fell to the floor. That meant he _had_ moved it. He just couldn't _tell_ that he had.

_I'm starting to think like Abby. Does this mean she's always in a state of near-delirium?_ Stan wondered. _Probably._ He laughed to himself...but he was tired again...and they hadn't even given him water yet. He hadn't ever been desperate enough to drink toilet water (particularly in the state the toilet was sitting...it would probably kill him), but if they didn't give him anything today, he might become so. Even this small bit of effort exhausted him too easily. His body was just too worn down from months of near starvation and restraint.

There were footsteps above. Stan's heart stopped. Quickly, he shoved his makeshift tool down his pants and brushed the pieces of concrete under his pallet, just in time to collapse onto his pallet, breathing heavily...and trying not to at the same time.

The door creaked open and footsteps descended. Stan tried not to look toward the stairs. He tried to keep himself limp. He was focusing so hard on staying still that he jumped when a loaf of bread hit him on the chest. It was followed by a bottle of water. The water hit him in the head and the laugh made him annoyed, but he was also confused (and not by the head trauma). They'd never given him water _and_ food at the same time. He sat up after the footsteps receded and forced himself to look carefully at the bread, smelling it (it was stale), checking the water bottle to make sure it was sealed.

_Why would they try to poison me when they could kill me much more easily with a gun or a knife...or a nuclear weapon..._ Stan went over what he had just thought. _Yes, I'm delirious._

Still, he needed the energy. He opened the bottle of water and drank a long gulp and then began to eat the bread...slowly. His stomach didn't protest so much if he took his time. This time, he could even sip some water in between bites.

Stan's eating halted abruptly as a morbid thought struck him. _Maybe it's my last meal..._

After a few seconds, he continued to eat. If it was...there was nothing he could about it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"No, Officer David," the CMC said. "I can't think of a single person who sought out Agent Burley's company beyond the men you've already detained. Like I said, people didn't like him."

"How often was he sending messages?"

"Quite a bit at the beginning, but that tapered off. He only sent one...the night before we docked, I think. I can't remember any other time he was there. You can check the logs."

"We will. Thank you, Master Chief."

Tony and Ziva left together.

"What do you think about this thing with McGee?" Tony asked.

"He made a mistake. A bad one."

"Yeah. That's not McGee-like at all."

"It was during a time of upheaval, Tony. Surely, you did not do everything perfectly when you got transferred."

"No, but...this is _McGee_!"

"He is not perfect, Tony. And I think it is wrong of Gibbs to blame him."

"He doesn't blame him."

"Do you think that McGee can tell?"

Tony snorted. "Are you kidding? McGuilty noticing that the boss doesn't _really_ blame him when he's obviously blaming himself?"

"Your lack of empathy is astounding," Ziva said and stalked ahead.

"Ziva!"

"Tony, can you not see how bad McGee is feeling about his mistake?"

"Sure, but I also know why Gibbs is doing it."

"Why is that?"

"Because it will make McGee work better."

"That is justification for cruelly blaming him for something he did not do?"

Tony shrugged. "Welcome to the world of Gibbs." He continued on his way.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Tim was digging through months of files, knowing only vaguely where he had to start looking. He searched, but there was a backlog of information in the ship's computers and he was working on two hours of sleep. He didn't know how some people managed like this. He ran a search and watched as the computer scrolled through the data. ...and his eyes started to droop.

"McGee!"

Tim jumped and felt the top of his head connected soundly with another head.

"Ow!"

_Thwack!_

"Hey!" Tim rubbed his head and turned around to find Tony rubbing his forehead, looking annoyed.

"Sleeping on the job, McGee?"

"You wanted to wake me up, you could have chosen a method _other_ than shouting in my ear," Tim said irritably.

"You're pretty flippant considering you're on the verge of joining Jethro in the dog house."

"Ha ha. What do you want?"

"Got some info for your search, McGee."

"Oh?" Tim looked at him skeptically and then shifted his gaze to Ziva.

"It is true, McGee. The CMC said that Clarkson sent a message out the day before the Roosevelt docked."

"Really?" Tim asked. He stared stupidly at them both for a moment and then spun around and began typing madly. His fingers flew over the keys and he leaned forward further and further until his nose was almost touching the screen.

"See?" Tony whispered. "It's an impetus."

"I do not believe that it is effective," Ziva shot back. "McGee would work this hard no matter what. Stan Burley is part of NCIS and someone Gibbs values very highly. That is enough."

"Values very highly? You think he'd expend this much energy for me without something extra to push him along?"

"Jealous, Tony?"

"No, of course not. Got over that a long time ago. I've outlasted Stan by a couple of years!" Tony preened slightly.

"A-ha!" Tim said triumphantly, not noticing their conversation. His mind was functioning on the level of only being able to think about one thing at a time. After his declaration, he said nothing else and began typing again.

"A-ha, what?"

No response from the hunched form.

"McGee! What?"

Still nothing.

"Probie!"

"Do not hit him, Tony. You will only distract him. Just wait."

"Wait for what?" Gibbs asked from right behind them.

If Tim's voice tuned out Tony and Ziva, it was ultra-attenuated to Gibbs' voice. He jumped and turned back around. Before Gibbs could say anything at all, he began to talk.

"Tony and Ziva found out that Clarkson sent out a message the day before they docked. I found it! I'm deciphering the header info now. I should...I should have a fix on the location."

"When _should_ this happen?"

"As...as soon as I get back to work, Boss." Tim swallowed and turned back to the computer.

"What else did the CMC have to say?" Gibbs asked.

"He couldn't think of anyone else who might have been cozy with Clarkson, Boss. The guy was a major prick. Basically, the opposite of Stan."

"Prick?" Ziva asked.

"It means obnoxious."

"Why?"

"Yeah, Tony, explain that to Ziva," Gibbs said, raising his eyebrows.

"I've got it!" Tim said.

"So...what does it mean?" Ziva asked.

Tim looked at her in confusion. "What?"

"What do you got, McGee?" Gibbs asked, rolling his eyes.

"The email was sent to a computer in Petersburg, Virginia!"

"That area is huge, McGee," Tony said. "Can't you narrow it down any more than that?"

"Yes, but that will take time. I know the email address to whom it was sent. I have to decipher the IP address and see if I can pinpoint the location, but even that might not get us the actual location. It could be someone bouncing off a wifi...that's happened before." Tim flushed. "It could be from an internet café. I don't know if it will get you what you want!"

"Well, find out, then, McGee!" Gibbs said and turned his chair around.

"Boss, ease up!" Tony said.

"Yes, Gibbs. This is wrong. Allow McGee a rest."

"Do you think Stan is resting right now, Ziva?"

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Scritch...scritch..._

Stan yanked and the piton moved beneath his hands. Not much. Not even close to enough, but it moved. Unless there was an extra claw in there, he figured if he could loosen it up enough, he'd be able to pull it out. He had a burst of energy from the bread and water. It wouldn't last nearly long enough, but it was worth a shot.

A voice raised in anger upstairs.

"_You tell me that now? Do you really think that I want to hear that?"_

_Must be on the phone,_ Stan thought. _No audible replies._

"_I'm not going to take the fall for this! You get over here and help me deal with it or I'm going to set him free and finger _you_ for everything! That's right! That's what I said!"_

That sounded ominous. Somehow, Stan figured that whoever was on the other end of that conversation had been convinced by the threat. ...and that meant no getting released...except into a hole in the backyard...or wherever.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"This is taking too long. McGee!"

Tim turned around again. "I'm working as fast as I can, Boss!"

"Forget it. Send everything you have to Abby. Tell her to work on it and let us know when she finds it."

"I can do it, Boss! I promise!" Tim felt desperate to show that he wasn't screwing up.

"You can't do it right now, McGee. So send it to Abby. We'll head to Petersburg," Gibbs said.

"All of us?" Tim asked.

Gibbs looked about ready to say no. Tim plunged on.

"Please, Boss. I need to be there."

"Do you?"

"Yes! I do!"

"And if Stan is dead?"

"Then...I need to be there still."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

The pile of dust was growing. Stan wasn't bothering to sweep it away. He could tell he was in trouble, just based on the pacing going on above his head. His captors were edgy, ready to take off, write off their losses.

_Scritch...scritch..._

Then, the pacing became a tread. Stan frantically brushed the debris out of the pile, hopefully adding it to grime already coating the dirty floor. He could have sworn each particle glowed like a neon light blaring out into the night: _Escape attempt! Escape attempt!_ He only barely managed to conceal his tool before the door at the top of the stairs exploded open and his captor thumped down. This time, he didn't stop at the bottom step. He strode all the way over to Stan, picked him up by his ragged clothes and brought him to his face.

"You said you were rich."

"Yeah...I am," Stan said, breathing heavily. He took a perverse pleasure in seeing the man grimace at the smell.

"How rich?"

"I don't have to work if I don't want to."

"Even right now?"

"Even right now."

"How much do you have in available assets right now?"

"I don't know."

"You don't _know_?" The man shook him.

"No, I don't. In case you haven't noticed, I've been a bit distracted from monetary concerns over the past...however long it's been. Maybe I _don't_ have money anymore. Is there something going on that I should know about?"

The man sneered and threw him back down. The toilet piece shifted down Stan's pant leg and he tried to remain still, lest it be seen. The man seemed disgusted by more than the filth as he stormed back up the stairs.

The pacing resumed. Stan laying breathing hard, feeling achy from the treatment he'd just received and more convinced than ever that he had better have a plan. Right now, it was basically along the lines of...get away.

The pacing continued and Stan cautiously pulled himself back to the wall.

_Scritch...scritch..._

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"He is out like a lamp," Ziva said, looking at Tim who was drooling on the window. "Perhaps he should not have come."

"Like a light," Tony corrected.

"Why does it make a difference?"

"I have no idea. Ziva, haven't you figured out that idioms don't make sense? They're not supposed to! I'll bet they don't in Hebrew either!"

"They make sense to me!"

"Yes, that's the whole point! Idioms make sense to the native speakers because it's _their_ language!"

"You have too many of them."

"Well, we have people from too many different places who settled here. Live with it." Tony twisted back around in his seat.

"Gibbs, you should tell McGee that it is not his fault."

"He'll figure it out."

"He might not, Boss," Tony said. "McGee's way too conscientious."

"Not enough to report theft."

"That was _one_ mistake, Gibbs," Ziva said. "Are you trying to tell me that you make no mistakes?"

Gibbs made no reply.

His phone rang and Tim surged from sleep to consciousness in a split second.

"Whoa, chill, McGee! We're not there yet."

"Yeah, what is it, Abby?" Gibbs asked. He listened for a few seconds and then hung up the phone and pushed on the gas.

"What did I miss?" Tim asked, holding onto the door for dear life.

"Nothing much, just some conversation," Tony said.

"Abby traced the email address to one specific place...and it's not a café. She's sending us the address now."

"So...why the sudden urge to defy death?" Tony asked, his eyes wide.

"Because when she got into the account, she found an email indicating that Stan was nothing more than a loose end. ...and if you ask what that idiom means you can clear out your desk as soon as we get back to NCIS."

"I was not going to say a word," Ziva said and then added in an undertone, "I understand that one."

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Scritch...scritch..._

Stan pulled on the piton. It moved, but not enough. He began to shove it back and forth.

"Come on you stupid thing!"

_Scritch...scritch..._


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

They still had half an hour before reaching Petersburg, even at Gibbs' breakneck velocity. No one spoke, no one made comments about idioms...or about anything else for that matter. All they wanted was to get there in time to save Stan, especially now that they had confirmation that he was alive. Even Tim's eyes lost their sleepiness as adrenaline took over.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Scritch...scritch..._

It was looser. It was. Stan yanked and pulled. It was looser, but it didn't seem to be coming out. That was really annoying. He was making progress only because the concrete was old and crumbling anyway. If it had been new and better maintained, he would have had less of a chance than the Count of Monte Cristo.

_They should really get the basement fixed,_ Stan thought to himself. _They'll have prisoners escaping right and left otherwise._ He smiled grimly. As miserable as his existence currently was, he didn't want it to end. It was too...too final.

_Scritch...scritch..._

"_You aren't here yet! I'll give you fifteen minutes!"_

_Fifteen minutes?_ Stan began to grind at the old concrete, using energy he didn't have, doing work he couldn't do, anything to give himself a fighting chance. The piton grew looser and looser.

_Come on. Come _on_!_ he silently begged it. _Come out!_

Then, the pacing resumed and Stan pushed away any thought of exhaustion, of weakness. He would _not_ give up. He would _not_ be killed chained to a wall.

_If I'm going to die, it's going be on my terms._

Of course, he didn't _want_ to die at all. What he wanted was a miracle. Unfortunately, after all this time, his belief in miracles was a little thin on the ground.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"_Okay, you should be pulling up to it now,"_ Abby's worried voice reported.

"You're sure this is the place?" Tony asked.

"_No, I'm not. I'm only sure that the emails were received at that IP address. Ask Tim. He can tell you all the sordid details."_

"That's not necessary," Gibbs said. "Who lives at this address?"

"_Guy by the name of Dayley. Clive Dayley. Bought it about a year ago. He was dishonorably discharged from the Navy ten years ago. Oh..."_ Abby's voice stopped abruptly and they could all feel the increase in tension.

"What is it, Abby?" Ziva asked.

"_The agent who arrested him."_

"Stan?"

"_Got it in one, Tony. He acted as lead on the case. Brought him up on charges of possession and then because of a series of 'incidents' on the base, he was drummed out. The Navy wanted nothing more to do with him."_

"Guess we know why they picked Stan."

"I'm sure it helped," Tim said softly. "But Stan's record is probably what decided them. It's full of glowing reviews. Not a single black mark. He'd get a lot more leeway than another Agent Afloat."

"Yes, I think getting to use Stan himself was just icing on the cake," Ziva said, sounding just slightly proud of herself for getting an idiom correct.

"All right. Let's go," Gibbs said, ending any further disclosure. "Ziva, you and McGee go around back. Tony, you and I'll take the front."

The doors opened almost simultaneously.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Furiously, Stan gave the piton a huge yank...and toppled almost into a backwards somersault when it suddenly came free in his hands. For a moment, he was so shocked that he didn't know what to do with it. Then, there was a lot of commotion, unintelligible shouting from upstairs and it jolted him back to himself. He couldn't just sit here.

Pushing himself upright on his shaking legs, Stan wound the chain around his hands as quietly as he could. His body was now protesting all the energy he was expending...but he wasn't about to give up now. Stan walked to the stairs, thought about climbing them and then decided against it. He wasn't sure he'd make it for one thing. For another...

There was a burst of gunfire. More shouting.

...he wasn't about to get involved in a firefight when he was unarmed and unprotected. Instead, he stood just out of sight of the stairs, holding the chain like a garrote. He wouldn't go down without a fight.

Then, without warning, all was still. There were muffled voices, but they were low. He couldn't distinguish even how many people were up there. He only knew there was more than one. Possibly more than two.

The door to the basement opened. Stan saw the light spill into his dark space. As much as he wanted to run up into the daylight, he didn't move. He just waited, listening to the footsteps. They were quiet. Whoever was coming was unsure of what he'd find. Stan waited, his fingers tightening around the chain. The tip of a gun poked around the edge of the wall. Stan didn't wait. He gathered all his remaining strength and flung the chain around the bare neck of the man who had invaded his space. He didn't even register the silver hair.

"Stan!" The voice was choked.

"Stan! Let him go!"

Blinking in the light he so rarely saw, Stan looked up the stairs.

"Tony? DiNozzo?" He barely recognized his own voice. He wasn't sure why he recognized Tony's.

"Yeah. It's me. Let Gibbs go before you kill him."

"Gibbs?" Stan's brain felt as though it was operating too slowly to process everything that was going on. He looked down at the struggling figure. "Gibbs!" He loosened the chain and backed up a couple of steps as Gibbs fell to his knees, gasping for breath.

"Nice to see you, too, Stan."

Stan stared. It was like something out of a dream. It was...like a miracle. The chain fell from his limp grasp and clinked against the concrete floor. He had gone from prisoner to freeman too quickly. It couldn't be done this easily.

"Boss," he said. "How–?" He didn't even know what to ask.

Gibbs stood up, a red ring forming around his neck. He rubbed at it.

"Here I thought you'd be grateful for the rescue."

"I don't take well to invaders," Stan replied, feeling dazed.

"You want to stay here?"

"No."

Gibbs strode over to him and put an arm around his waist. As soon as he did, Stan felt his body sag.

"Sorry, Boss."

"No problem. We'll get you out of here."

"Thanks."

Stan allowed himself to be manhandled up the stairs...into the light. He squinted into it and lifted a shaking hand to cover his eyes. It was too bright. Much too bright.

Before he knew it, he was being helped onto a chair. Tony was getting him water. A woman he didn't know was bending over a dead body in the middle of the kitchen...and another man was standing in the background, hovering around the edges.

"I can't tell you how glad I am to see you, Boss," he said hoarsely. "All of you...even if I don't really know who all of you are."

"I am Ziva David, Mossad Liaison Officer."

"Nice to meet you. I'm not really dressed for having company," Stan said after chugging down a glass of water. He looked down at himself. "In fact, I probably smell like I've been interred."

"Yes, something like that," Ziva agreed with a smile. "Gibbs, we should get him checked out. He cannot be in good health after all this time."

"No, I'm not. I can tell you that much. How long is... 'all this time'? How long was I missing?"

"Ten months and twelve days." The voice behind him was soft and he almost missed it. Stan turned around. "More or less..."

"You are?"

"Tim McGee." He looked around the room, anywhere but toward Stan. "It's my fault you're here." Then, he walked out of the room.

Stan looked back toward Gibbs in confusion...and paused before asking. He might be half-starved and not at his best physically or mentally, but he also noticed a strange expression on Gibbs' face.

"Gibbs?"

"Let's get you to the hospital, Stan. Or would you rather take an ambulance?"

"I'd rather get out of this place. Now." Stan shook his head. "Ten months. Ten months. It felt like forever."

"McGee and I will stay here and secure the scene," Ziva said as Gibbs gave Stan a hand and the four of them walked out of the house. Tony ran to get the car and drive it closer. Gibbs was helping Stan and Ziva was just coming along. Tim was nowhere to be seen.

...in fact, he was in the house, looking at the body. He looked...and then, he looked again.

"This isn't Dayley," he whispered to the empty house. He stood up, now wary, hand on his gun. They had cleared the house after shooting this...this unidentified man...but he was now very worried, his gut churning in warning. Slowly, he walked toward the front door, hearing the talking outside, concerned but lighthearted. As he reached the front stoop, his exhaustion was forgotten. He stood there, looking around...and then, he saw it, saw the glint of a gun from the hedge at the end of the driveway. He called out a warning and jumped off the stoop, running to intercept. Stan would _not_ die because of him. He would _not_ die at the moment of rescue. He did see Ziva drawing her gun in response to his warning...and he saw Gibbs as well, hindered as he was by supporting Stan's emaciated, filthy body, so very changed from his official file photo.

_He won't be killed now. He won't!_ Tim's determination propelled him beyond Gibbs and Stan, in between them and the gun. He took aim and fired...but, although _he_ had forgotten his exhaustion, his body had not and it simply couldn't deal with so much stimulus all at once. Where he would have noticed the gun firing had he been fully rested, in his current state, he basically forgot that guns _could_ fire, that guns _pointed _at him could _hit_ him. It, therefore, came as a complete shock to him when his right arm suddenly seemed to explode in a fire of pain, driving him to the ground.

Just before he blacked out, he was comforted in knowing that he'd finally done something to _protect_ Stan Burley rather than aid in his capture. Anything else hardly mattered.


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

Tim hit the ground, hard, and then lay unmoving. Ziva fired twice more and took down the shooter before running to where Tim lay, spreadeagled, his gun lying uselessly beside him. Gibbs and Stan were still standing in shock and Tony was running to the body, making sure the man really was dead. It had happened so fast. There had barely been time to register Tim's warning before he'd flown past her and then...then been shot himself.

Ziva knelt beside Tim, searching for the wound that was bleeding so much that the ground, with its dead brown grass was already turning red with blood. Quickly, her eyes tracked in on the hole in Tim's jacket, just below the shoulder. That was a bad place to be hit. The shoulder itself would have been worse, of course, but there was plenty of damage to be done in that area. She pulled off the jacket, causing Tim to return to painful consciousness. Instantly, he clamped his hand to his arm and let out a long moan.

He cracked his eyelids open. "That hurt," he said, breathing heavily.

Ziva smiled. "I am certain it did."

Tim changed his focus onto Tony who had just joined them, kneeling on the other side.

"I'm not going to be like the guys in the movies, Tony."

"In what way?"

"I think I'm going to...just stay down here...okay? It really hurts...and I don't want to get up. It doesn't seem to hurt people on TV."

"That's because they're shooting blanks on TV, Probie," Tony said, but he looked at Ziva worriedly.

"McGee, you need to move your hand so that I can put a bandage on it."

"I'd like to leave my hand where it is, thanks."

"You can't, Probie. Ziva's liable to tear it off if you do that."

Tim laughed and loosened his grip. Ziva pushed his hand away and covered the gushing wound with a bandage that instantly turned red. Her expression was grave.

"Gibbs, I think you should call an ambulance, after all."

Gibbs nodded and lowered Stan, who was sagging anyway, gently to the ground and pulled out his phone, looking worried. Stan crawled over to the trio.

"Anything I can do?"

"I don't think so, Stan," Tony said. "McGee would like to avoid contamination."

Stan laughed wearily and looked at himself. "Yeah...contaminated would pretty much describe me currently, wouldn't it?"

"What were you thinking, McGee?" Tony asked. "Why couldn't you just point out the guy standing there?"

A shudder ran through Tim's body. "I couldn't think of anything to do. I was just...just thinking that..." He craned his neck. "I'm sorry, St–Agent Burley."

"For what?"

"For...getting you into this."

Stan smiled although he wasn't exactly feeling happy at the moment. "Hey, I'm only mad at Gibbs and Ducky and Abby. They're the ones who never thought to call me, not once in ten months." He stumbled over the time. He still couldn't believe it.

Tim laughed. "Man, I'm tired."

"You are tired?" Ziva asked. "You have been shot and you are complaining about being tired?"

"I've had two hours of sleep in the last forty-eight hours. I think I have license."

"Well, I do not think you should go to sleep."

Tim winced and then yawned. "Why not? It's not like I'm dying." He squinted at Ziva when she didn't immediately reply. "I'm _not_ dying, am I?"

"No, you're not, McGee," Gibbs said, tersely, before Ziva could say anything else.

"Gibbs..."

"He's not dying, is he, Ziva," Gibbs repeated.

Tim winced as Ziva increased the pressure on his arm. "Being shot really...really sucks."

"Yeah, it does," Tony agreed. "Just hang in there, Probie."

"Ambulances are on their way."

"Hang in there?" Tim repeated. "I _must_ be dying." His eyes followed Ziva's hands as she added another layer to the blood-soaked bandages on his arm and pressed down. He moaned and his humor faded. "Artery?"

Ziva gave him an encouraging smile. "Possibly."

"I...I'm not _that_ tired."

Tony laughed outright. "Good. Stay awake, then."

Tim now looked frightened. The idea of bleeding to death was not entirely pleasant...not pleasant at all, in fact.

"Don't worry, McGee. The ambulance will be here soon. They'll whisk you away, give you some blood, tie things off and you'll be fine."

Tim smiled weakly. "I'm...really glad you're not a doctor...Tony."

"Hey, Tim," Stan said, leaning forward.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

Tim shook his head in denial.

"No, I mean it. Thanks. ...and don't even think about dying because I don't like the idea of trading one for another. It would ruin my miracle, okay?"

"What?"

"I got a miracle today. I don't want you to screw it up."

"I'll work on...that."

It seemed to take too long, but the sirens blared up the street. By the time they arrived, Tim's eyes were closed, his face almost as pale as Stan's. Both Tim and Stan got whisked away as Tony had said they would.

"Was it an artery bleed?" Tony asked quietly after the ambulances were gone.

"I do not know for certain, but I think it was. He lost a lot of blood. I could not stop it."

"He'll make it," Tony said, bracingly.

"He will survive, but there is a lot of damage that could be permanent from such an injury." She turned on Gibbs. "Did you hear what he said? He was doing that to make up for his mistake!"

"Yeah, I heard," Gibbs said.

"He was probably dead on his feet anyway with only two hours of sleep," Tony said. "Boss...I...I don't like to, but I gotta say it: you were _wrong _on this one. The way you treated McGee...that was wrong, no matter what mistakes he made or how worried you were about finding Stan. Stan said it himself...you don't trade one for the other. That's what you were doing."

Gibbs didn't reply. Instead, he set them on the task of dealing with the new crime scene. He called Abby and reported the good (ish) news about Stan's rescue. He didn't mention Tim's injury.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

Stan, as it turned out, wasn't too badly off. He had deficiencies. He was malnourished, but he had received just enough food and water to keep him from facing the kind of extremities real starvation caused. It would take some time, but within a few weeks, he'd be nearly fully recovered, with only some residual weakness lingering. Gibbs went to visit him as soon as he arrived.

"Hey, Stan."

"Gibbs."

"How are you feeling?"

Stan smiled wryly and held up his hand, indicating the IV. "See this? That's pumping me full of all sorts of things. I'm great."

"I'm glad."

"Boss," Stan began, wondering just how to put what he had to say. "...why did Tim say that me being in that house was his fault?"

"He made a mistake."

"In interpreting or a mistake in doing his job?"

"In doing his job. His lapse allowed your kidnappers to create the file for the fake Stan and insert him into NCIS."

Stan nodded. "Okay. ...and this makes my kidnapping his fault, how?"

"It doesn't," Gibbs admitted. "I let him think that. McGee is the kind of person who would automatically make that connection. I let him."

"Why would you do that?"

"Because he works better when he has something to prove."

Stan straightened up in his bed. "You let someone blame himself for something because you thought he'd work better?"

Very few people had the power to make Gibbs uncomfortable (Ducky was one of them). He generally embraced whatever decision he made, knowing that there was no way for him to take it back after it had been done. It was easier just to run with it. However, this time, with Stan's nearly disgusted gaze on him, Gibbs found himself feeling...uncomfortable. Combine Stan's expression with Tony and Ziva outright disagreeing with him...and the fact that _he_ knew he was wrong...

"Boss...I didn't think you'd do something so...wrong."

"We all make mistakes."

"Yes. That's exactly the point. Boss, you made _me_ more important than Tim. I'm glad you guys found me..._really_ glad...but it shouldn't have been at the expense of a member of your team. That's not how NCIS operates...and I didn't think it was how _you_ operated either." Stan might have been weak and emaciated (but no longer filthy) but his eyes were clear as they focused on Gibbs. "You've done Tim a huge disservice...and me as well. You've played us against each other. What if I had been dead? What then? What if I had _died_ in the course of the rescue? What would have happened then? Would you have blamed Tim still? ...or would you just have let him continue to blame himself and drive himself crazy? Boss...you screwed up...a lot more than Tim did. I don't care how you feel about apologies. You owe him one."

"Boss?" Tony leaned in. "Hey, Stan. Feeling better?"

"Much, Tony. Thanks. Can't believe you're still with him."

"Habit," Tony said, grinning.

"What is it, Tony?"

"They're letting us go and see Tim. I figured it might be a good idea to go before Abby gets here and has a major freak out."

"I'll meet you there."

Tony's head withdrew.

"You know I'm right, Boss."

Gibbs laughed softly. "Yeah, I know."

"You don't have to be right every time. They won't think any less of you if you mess up occasionally."

Gibbs rolled his eyes and walked out.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"How you doing, Probie?" Tony asked.

Tim's arm was swatched in bandages. His eyes were a bit googily as he stared at them, but he seemed better than before.

"I'm a little loopy, Tony. Must be the medss."

"Probably."

"Is Sstan okay?" Tim asked, slurring the sibilants just a bit.

"He'll be fine in a few weeks. They're pumping him full of vitamins," Tony reported.

"Abby is here and she does not know that you were injured," Ziva said. "We will try to protect you."

Tim smiled. "Thankss. I'll probably end up breaking my arm or my head or something." His smile faded. "You're sure he's okay?"

"Positive. Saw him myself. He's sitting up, talking. He's fine."

They both wanted to ask about his arm, but neither of them dared.

"Good. I...I think I'm going to get fired."

"Why would you think that?"

"Gibbsss is..."

"He does not blame you," Ziva said severely. "He knows it is not your fault."

Tim's mind wasn't operating on all cylinders and he stared her with a furrowed brow. "He does. He...He ssaid that..."

"He knows he made a mistake," Tony said.

"Vance might not agree."

"Vance knows?"

"He...He heard me talking about it...and..." Tim paused, his eyes drooping. "He could. It'sss a really ssstupid thing I did."

"Vance loves you. He wouldn't..."

"Tim!" Abby's screech interrupted the soothing...and brought Tim temporarily back to full alert. "They didn't tell me you were hurt, too!"

"Help," Tim whispered.

"You're on your own," Tony said, standing well back.

"Be careful of him, Abby," Ziva said, rolling her eyes at Tony. "He has had a bad day."

Abby rushed to the bed but when she put her arms around Tim, she was surprisingly gentle.

"I had to hear about it from _Stan_ of all people."

"I would have told you, Abby," Tim said, "but I was unconscious."

Abby laughed and then sniffled. "You guys should really stop getting hurt. It's bad for my emotional state."

"Abby, _everything_ is bad for your emotional state," Tony said, drily.

Abby let Tim go and slugged Tony's shoulder.

"Hey, ow!"

"Serves you right."

"Guys...I'm tired," Tim said in the brief pause. "Is it all right if I go back to sleep?"

Abby shifted immediately back to her mother hen persona. "Go to sleep, Timmy. We'll be quiet."

"Yeah, we'll muzzle, Abby."

"And knock Tony out cold," Ziva added, staring maliciously at him.

Tim smiled sleepily. "Tell Gibbs I'm sssorry..." His eyes closed.

After a few minutes of silence, just to be sure that Tim was really asleep, Abby looked at Ziva and Tony.

"Is he going to be all right?"

"He should be. No doctors have told us for certain yet. I do not think _he_ knows yet."

"Where's Gibbs? He wasn't with Stan."

"I...have no idea," Tony said, but he glanced at Ziva.

They both were thinking the same thing: Gibbs was avoiding admitting his error. ...but they didn't want to talk about it out loud because Abby didn't know about Tim's mistake and they wanted to keep it that way.

They just hoped that Tim would heal.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

Tim's wounds _did_ heal. He had lucked out in that while the bullet had nicked his brachial artery, it had also missed the tendons and nerves that could have been permanently damaged. He'd be a long time recovering but he _would_ recover. Stan would take longer to get back to full force, but after Tim was released from the hospital in Petersburg, Stan made arrangements to be transferred up to DC just so that he was closer to the people he knew...and he asked Tim to ride with him.

"You guys all set?"

"Sure thing. I'd prefer a limo, though," Stan said, smiling.

"Next time," the EMT promised.

"I hope there isn't a next time."

He laughed. "You guys have any trouble just holler."

"Will do."

The patient transport pulled away and the first leg of the trip passed in near silence. It wasn't far to DC, a couple of hours, but it would seem much longer if no one spoke.

"Tim, you know that Gibbs was wrong to blame you, right?" Stan asked, finally.

Tim sat very still, every so often wincing and massaging his arm.

"_He_ knows it was wrong."

"That's news to me," Tim said softly.

"Gibbs isn't so good at admitting it, but he does make mistakes. Everyone does."

"I sure did."

"What exactly _did_ you do?" Stan asked. He figured it would be better to get the whole story rather than bits and pieces of it.

At first, he thought Tim wouldn't answer him. He sat so still and wouldn't look anywhere but straight ahead.

"What I did...it's worse than just paving the way for your kidnapping," he said. "It's...it's betraying my..." He looked at Stan. "I allowed my pride, my...my worries about keeping my job to get in the way of actually _doing_ my job."

"In what way?"

"Things...things happened right around then that..."

"Things that affected you and your team but things you can't talk about?"

Tim nodded.

"Okay. So...there are these nebulous things." Stan smiled and gestured for him to continue.

"Director Vance came in and...and he split up the team. Sent Ziva back to Israel, Tony to an Agent Afloat assignment...and me down to Cybercrimes. I thought...at first, I thought it was because of...of what happened, that we were being punished for it. Then...about a week after that, Director Vance came down to Cybercrimes and gave me a new assignment to work on. It was the reason for splitting up the team and giving Gibbs all new people. It was some really really intricate computer work. It took months to finish. When I first started, I got all this information on a flash drive, new access codes, stuff like that. I misplaced it...at least that's what I...I thought..._hoped_ it was. I just..." Tim stopped talking again and turned away. He rubbed his arm and then continued. "Do you know how it feels to...to think that your career is on the line? I mean, you had your life on the line which is much worse, but...but I was...I was so afraid that I was going to get fired. Vance had...had shown that he wanted something. He wanted it enough to take drastic steps. Director Shephard had been like that, too. Vance isn't like her. He didn't...didn't break the law, but we weren't sure of him at first." Tim laughed. "And he trusted me...not Tony. It was...kind of flattering to be the one in the limelight, relatively speaking. But...when I saw that it was gone. I was frantic. If someone had taken it, they could get in everything. I searched everywhere and then...then it showed up again."

"And you thought that you had just misplaced it."

"Well...I _told_ myself that I thought that, but I checked all the sensitive areas. There was no sign of someone trying to hack in, trying to break through the other passwords. I assumed that meant no one had gone in. If they had taken the flash drive, they would have done something with it." Tim turned around on the seat and faced Stan, speaking earnestly. "Don't you see? If I had reported it, like I _knew_ I should, if I had, they would have searched _everything_. They wouldn't have taken any chances. They would have seen the inserted file. They would have known that you were missing. They could have found you so much sooner, could have...but I put myself ahead of everything...and everyone else. ...and I..."

Stan put out a hand to stop him. "Tim, you're taking way too much on yourself. Sure, I can't deny that what you've said is possible. ...and yeah, I would _love_ to have been found earlier than I was. I wake up in the mornings and for a minute, I can't remember where I am. I think I'm still in that basement." Tim looked down. "But, Tim, you can't know that everything would have worked out. From what I understand, the only reason you guys knew where I was came from an email my doppelganger sent out from the Roosevelt _after_ I'd been taken. Dayley and that other guy, they watched me like a hawk those first few weeks...until I was too weak to do anything because they kept me half-starved. They _might_ have checked personnel files if you had reported the theft, but then again, they probably would have done the same thing you did, check the stuff that's likely to be compromised. How many people would get full access to NCIS and upload a single file to personnel? I'd venture that very few would have done that...and fewer still would expect that kind of thing."

"You can't know that."

"No, but that's my point. _You_ can't know either. You made your choice, and yes, it turned out to be wrong, but what you did was not, in and of itself, the cause of my kidnapping. This was pretty well planned out, you know. Not perfect, but pretty well. I...what I'm trying to say, Tim, is that no matter how Gibbs might have treated you, you can't blame yourself. He doesn't blame you."

"He never even came to see me, not even to yell at me for messing up," Tim said. "I know he saw you."

"Yeah, and I lectured him...because Gibbs was _wrong_. He knows it, and I know it. Everyone seems to know it, except you. Gibbs made a mistake, a bad one. You made a mistake. So...what needs to happen is for you to acknowledge that–"

"I know I screwed up."

Stan continued as if Tim hadn't interrupted. "–that _Gibbs_ screwed up."

Tim looked at Stan as if he was speaking another language. Stan laughed.

"Oh, come on, Tim. Gibbs doesn't know everything. He's far from omniscient. I mean, look at the way he approaches computers."

That forced a small smile.

"As for why he hasn't seen you...I can only guess, but I'd guess that he feels guilty and doesn't want to admit it just yet. After all, his methods got the desired outcome. He generally operates on the idea of the ends justifying the means. This time, they don't."

"Don't they?"

"No," Stan said emphatically. "No, they don't. You are not somehow less important than me. Your mistake doesn't make you less valuable as a human being, less important to NCIS. I don't have more value because I was a prisoner, because I worked with Gibbs before you did. You think I never messed up? I made plenty of mistakes, Tim. ...and I didn't get fired for it. I'm well-off, not because _I_ did anything, but because other people did. I merely benefitted from it. I benefitted from Gibbs' way of doing things, but I don't think that it was the way he needed to get things done."

"I was so tired."

"Yeah. You worked yourself to the point of exhaustion, just to find where I was. You would have done that anyway, wouldn't you?"

"Of course. It's my job."

"Exactly. Gibbs should have known that. He _did_ know it. He just didn't admit it."

"Why not?"

"You'll have to ask him that yourself."

"I still might get fired," Tim said. "I...I know Vance knows...well, he knows that I did something wrong. And he'd be well within his rights to fire me."

"He won't."

"You sound pretty sure for someone who's never even met him."

"That's me. I'm usually certain about something." Stan smiled.

Tim smiled back.

"I think I'm more nervous about running into Gibbs again."

"I would be, too."

"You're not helping."

"I've already given the help I can. Now, it's up to you."

"Thanks, Stan."

"Ah, we're even."

"What if I _do_ get fired?"

"Then, I'll owe you one."

"I'll remember that."

"Just remember the condition attached."

Tim smiled.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Monday morning..._

Tim knew that he wouldn't be able to work full time for a while yet. What he didn't know was if he'd even have a job when he was once again hale and hearty. That was something he wanted to know now. He walked to Vance's office and was admitted.

"Agent McGee, I was expecting you. Please, have a seat."

Tim nodded and sat down, trying to hide his nervousness.

"Now, I'm assuming you're in some doubt about the status of your employment here."

"Yeah. You could say that."

"Agent Gibbs gave me a full report on the situation last week."

"He did?"

"Yes. He also spoke to me in person on Friday about your actions."

"...or lack thereof."

Vance nodded. "Yes, I'm now fully aware of what you did _not_ do, Agent McGee."

"And?"

"And...do you think I should fire you?"

"You have every right to."

"That's not what I asked."

"I don't want you to."

"Honesty is a good way to go."

"Thanks."

"Agent Gibbs does not feel it is a firing offense, but seeing as you failed to report the temporary theft of vital information when under _my_ purview, I am the one who has to make that decision."

"Yes, sir. I know."

"Nothing to say in your defense?"

"No, sir. It was wrong. What I did was stupid and wrong and possibly was the reason for the length of Agent Burley's kidnapping. What is there to say in my defense?"

"Stupid and wrong, definitely. But Agent Gibbs disagrees with the last point."

"He said that?"

"Yes, in his report. So...Agent McGee, you are going to get an official reprimand in your file. It will _remain_ on file for the period of two years. If there are no further infractions of this sort, it will be removed with nothing more said about the matter."

"Yes, sir."

"No complaints?"

"I'm not happy about it...but I did do it."

"Yes, you did." Vance stood and walked around his desk. He sat down beside Tim. "Now that the official stuff is out of the way, would you mind telling me _why_?"

"Why?"

"Yes, why. You're too smart to make that kind of decision without cause, Agent McGee. In terms of your reprimand, cause doesn't really matter unless you were under duress. You weren't, were you?"

"No, sir."

"Then, explain."

"I was stupid."

"Everyone has stupid moments, but could you explain?"

"I was afraid that I'd screwed up too much." Tim shrugged his uninjured shoulder. "It's not a good reason, Director. I know that. I thought I'd taken all the steps to make sure nothing had happened...but I didn't do enough."

"I might have done the same thing in your place, McGee."

"Is there anything other than the reprimand?"

"No. I do expect you not to repeat that decision."

"I won't, sir. I promise."

"You can go, Agent McGee."

"Thank you, sir." Tim stood and left, his mind churning. He walked to the elevator without really thinking. He got on and sent it down. It stopped at the bullpen level...and there was Gibbs. Tim stared at him as he got on. He said nothing. He closed the doors and sent it on its way.

It didn't make it very far.

For the first time in his life, Tim reached out and stopped the elevator. He turned and faced Gibbs.

"Why, Boss?"


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

"Why what, McGee?" Gibbs asked, his expression revealing nothing.

"Why have you admitted to everyone but me that you messed up? That the way you treated me was wrong?"

"You think it was?"

Suddenly, somehow, it was as though their positions were reversed. Tim didn't feel like the subordinate. He felt like he had somehow risen above Gibbs. He wasn't afraid. He was frustrated and he wanted an explanation. ...and he felt as though he had the power to _demand_ an explanation, even from Gibbs. He didn't know how it had happened or why, but, even though Gibbs had done nothing differently, Tim felt the change as if someone had shouted it into the air.

"You _know_ it was, Boss! Why the runaround? Why are you acting as though you don't have clue what I'm talking about? Why?"

"You must have an idea why, McGee. What do you think?"

"No!" Tim said. "No, I'm not going to let you turn this around on me. This is about you! About you blaming me for what happened to Stan. Yeah, I screwed up. The difference between me and you, though, Boss, is that _I_ admitted it. I admitted it to you, and to Stan and to Director Vance, to Tony and Ziva. You've admitted it...but not to me. ...and I'm the _first_ one you should have admitted it to. Why didn't you?"

"The other things were more important."

"No!" Tim heard his voice bounce off the walls. "No, I don't care that you cleared things up with Vance for me. I don't care that you told Stan it wasn't my fault. What I care about is the fact that my status didn't matter to you. I could have been killed, Gibbs. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was tired enough that my ability to make rational decisions was affected. I wouldn't have tried to run at the guy if I had been granted enough sleep to think clearly. Doesn't that matter to you?"

Gibbs remained silent in his usual way.

"I need an answer, Gibbs. I need an answer because..." Tim steeled himself. "...because I can't work for someone who doesn't care about my welfare. Stan was right. For you, the ends justify the means. This time, Boss, did putting me at risk, making me feel like everything was my fault, did that justify what happened?"

They stared at each other, neither breaking the sudden silence. Tim would not back down this time. He'd had time to think, both about his actions and about Gibbs' decisions. This was something that had to be said, and it had to be done now. Tim didn't need it to be a public confrontation. It didn't need to be official. It just needed to happen.

"I'm sorry, McGee," Gibbs said softly.

Tim shook his head. "That's not enough, Boss. Not this time. I don't think that apologies are a sign of weakness like you do, but what I need to know is whether or not you think of me as an asset or as something expendable. ...because I'm _not_ expendable and if you treat me like I am, I can't work for you. During this case, you acted as though Stan were the only important thing. I don't mind that because Stan _was_ important. He was the focus of the case and we needed to find him, but the way you treated _me_ made _me_ worthless." Tim looked away for the first time. "I have enough trouble devaluing myself, Boss. I don't need you to do it, too."

Still, Gibbs didn't answer. Tim looked at him once more.

"Boss, if you can't give me an answer...if you can't be honest with me...that's the wrong way for a team to be structured. I can't think of you as perfect...but you can't think of me as something that can be discarded at will."

Nothing. Tim sighed and reached for the switch.

"The ball's in your court, Boss."

The elevator came back on and began to move.

...it didn't make it very far. Gibbs reached around Tim and flicked the switch again. The elevator came to a resigned stop.

"You're right, McGee."

Tim couldn't look at Gibbs this time. The tables had turned once more and Tim felt like the probie again. He stared straight ahead, afraid to hear what Gibbs had to say. That Gibbs, too, was staring straight ahead didn't make Tim feel any better.

"You're right. Stan's right. Tony and Ziva were right. I screwed up. I did blame you in the beginning, but only instinctively. I didn't afterward, but I let you think I did. I knew you would come to that conclusion and I let it happen. I told myself that you would work better if you were trying to make up for your mistake, if you thought you had something to prove. What I forgot, McGee, is that you always work as if you have something to prove. ...and what's more, I've never told you that you have _nothing_ to prove." Gibbs sighed. "I know I'm not perfect and I'm glad you know it, too. ...but I have to admit that it's hard letting go of the image, even if it's only in the minds of others."

"Is that more important than me, as a member of your team?"

"No."

"Don't do that to me again, Boss."

"I won't."

"I can't go through something like that again. If I screw up, let me have it...but don't treat me like I'm dirt."

"I won't. I promise, McGee. What I did was wrong."

Gibbs reached out and turned on the elevator once more. They stood in silence and then, Tim smiled.

"Apology accepted."

He looked sideways and saw Gibbs, who was staring straight ahead...but with a small smile on his face as well. He remembered.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

_Three months later..._

"I thought you would have done this ages ago," Stan said, sitting perched on Tony's desk, staring at the plasma. "He looks nothing like me, you know." He bent his head to the side. "I'm better-looking."

The file made for the fake Stan Burley was sitting on the screen and Tim was getting ready to permanently delete it from the system, having returned to work full time just the week before. So far as had been ascertained, Dayley had been the mastermind behind the idea to kidnap Stan and replace him. The buyers who had been lined up to purchase the stolen data had been set up and arrested. It was the beginnings of what could have become a major leak of sensitive information. Petty Officer Wright had been exonerated on the basis of being under duress. He had been permitted to rejoin his crew, demoted but with the possibility of regaining his former rank.

"I thought you might like to see it for yourself," Tim said.

Tony guffawed as he came in and saw Stan squinting at his doppelganger.

"We never saw him until he was dead, Stan," Tony said. "It's not _our_ fault they couldn't distinguish between the two of you."

"At least we found out," Tim said.

"Yeah, that's a definite plus, I have to agree," Stan said. "Well? Get rid of him, Tim. I'm ready to see my double disappear."

Tim pushed the appropriate keys and the file vanished.

"That's it?"

"Yep."

"No more crazy man wandering around pretending to be me?"

"Nope."

"Wonderful!" Stan stood up. "That means I can do my assignment on the Roosevelt without someone looking over my shoulder."

"The Roosevelt?" Tony asked in surprise.

"I have a reputation to maintain, Tony. Director Vance agrees that NCIS needs to clean up its image on that ship. People don't like me over there...and it wasn't even _me_!"

"Afraid of losing your popularity, Stan?" Gibbs asked as he strolled in.

"Yeah, I am," Stan said emphatically.

"Stan!" Abby shrieked. "I didn't know you were here!"

"Just briefly, Abbs," Stan said, allowing her to hug him.

"You're still too skinny," she said, all concern.

"I'm cleared for duty. It will help me get through the different parts of the ship more easily." Stan turned sideways and sucked in his non-existent gut. He was still overly gaunt, but infinitely improved from his initial skeletal appearance.

"Well, it is good to see you on your own two feet," Ziva said from her desk.

"It's good to _be_ on my own two feet. I just hope I haven't lost my sea legs."

"You going to miss your ride, Stan?" Gibbs asked.

"Nope. I'll make it. I just wanted to make sure my records were in order...and I wanted to say thanks to all of you. Mushy or not, Boss, you _all_," Stan looked around the room...and paused momentarily on Tim, "did so much to get me out. It's something I can't repay."

"It's our job, Stan," Tony said, but he flushed with pleasure at the gratitude.

"I'm glad you did it so well. I'd better be off." He bowed with a flourish. "Just don't forget what I look like this time, all right?"

"Promise," Tim said, softly. "We won't forget." He smiled as he said it, but he was serious.

Stan nodded. "Good. Then, I know I have nothing to worry about."

He got on the elevator and saluted them all as the doors closed.

Tim stared at the doors for a just a moment and then typed in a quick search for _Stan Burley._ Instantly, Stan's file came up...on the plasma. He blushed and took it down.

"What are you doing, Probie?"

"Just checking," Tim said.

"It's there," Gibbs answered. "Don't worry, McGee. It's there."

"I know, Boss."

Tim ducked his head and smiled.

x.x.x.x.x.x.x

"Permission to come aboard, sir!" Stan called.

"Who would you be?"

"NCIS Special Agent Stan Burley! The original!" he said, grinning.

The skipper looked a bit wary, but he nodded. "Permission granted!"

Stan eagerly walked up the gangplank and put out his hand as he reached the captain.

"I'm Agent Burley. I hope you'll allow me to make up for the problems caused by my double."

The captain hesitated and then took Stan's hand, shaking it firmly.

"Do your job, Agent Burley, and you'll have nothing to make up for."

"That's my intention, skipper," Stan said seriously.

"Then, welcome aboard, Agent Burley. I look forward to working with you."

Stan smiled in anticipation.

FINIS!


End file.
